


Lights Like Stars

by noveltys



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Faerie, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, M/M, Magic, Mild Language, Outdoor Sex, Violence, it's not that bad but these are not nice faeries, yeah i know but trust me on this ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noveltys/pseuds/noveltys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins, for Myungsoo, on the brink of war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights Like Stars

**Author's Note:**

> apologies for any mistakes. unedited. i'm really nervous about this lol

It begins, for Myungsoo, on the brink of war.

Not in the midst of clashing swords and the heat of magic, but on the precipice of conflict. This was a dark, overcast sky before the first drop of rain, and Myungsoo could smell the electricity in the air; it was dangerous.

War occurred underneath the warm faerie lights strung from the trees, illuminating the grass and casting soft shadows, amidst the swirling of fabrics and fireflies and the beat of music that could be felt pounding in your ribcage, like it wanted to break out. The grass whispered in the slight breeze amongst small, bare toes and brush of long skirts. The sky was a dark blanket over the tops of the trees, and through the leaves one could just make out a scattering of bright stars and vastness of places unknown.

War transpired suddenly, a misstep in the choreography, causing the whirling mass in the glade to freeze and go silent underneath a canopy of bright light. Everyone was still, quietness not compromised by heavy breaths or shifting of limbs of the current company. 

At the banquet table, a rich mahogany ornately engraved, among the rich wines and ripe apples, confectionary delight of inhuman creation, lay a human, slumped over the wood in death; poisoned. Their face was pale, tongue black like ash; memories of fires long burnt out, but their eyes were closed, pale lids shut in a semblance of peace. Behind the human, quite possibly male by their appearance, stood an imposter: the only figure in a motionless clearing too intoxicated to take notice of anything around him. But soon he detected the silence around him, wobbling on short legs and spindly wings that fluttered awkwardly.

Myungsoo, from his point beside the throne to which his queen sat, reached for his sword attached to his hip, but was halted by a delicate flick of a wrist and the wave of a hand from his master. The Seelie Queen rose from a seat of tangled branches embellished with gold leaves and red berries, her dress pooling around her feet gracefully in a way faeries wished they could imitate. Her dress, the gold colour of blazing sunsets was embroidered with the same coloured leaves, which were more concentrated on her shoulders and gave the appearance that they were falling towards the ground. The sleeves and neckline were transparent enough to impress upon her court that it was only the leaves that she was wearing. The queen’s hair, similar in shade to the dark red of dying leaves in autumn, was curled in long waves around her pointed ears that cascaded towards the ground. And her face was said to be the most beautiful of all; perfect features upon which a constellation of dark freckles was cast. Yet her expression now was fierce, and commanded the attention and dread of her congregation.

“To which court do you attend?” The Seelie Queen asks, voice ringing out into the silent crowd amid the trees, but directed to the lone figure still fixed beside the human, body seemingly curled in on itself much like a spider’s post-mortem. She’s angry, Myungsoo recognizes, and he shifts, ready. 

The answer is exactly what everyone expects to hear: “Unseelie,” the faerie replies, slurring slightly. It is quite obvious he does not understand the full extent of his actions, if he even is sober enough to know where he is at all.

The Seelie court murmurs softly, appalled at the deeds of the Unseelie faerie. Then the Seelie Queen steps down from her throne, down the carved wooden steps, Myungsoo at the ready should she been in need of his services, but alas she was not. She strode across the grass in a lithe way that only a faerie could, with legs longer than any human’s and posture that screamed regality.

While the Seelie court was against the slaughtering of humans (for personal gain or simply folly, neither mattered), the Unseelie court had no such qualms, often leading unsuspecting people away to dance and frequently never returning. That is not to say that the Unseelie court was evil, but rather had their own interests in mind first for the most part. Seelie upheld the qualities of morality and justice, and took it upon themselves to be the rationality of the faerie world, of which there was a significant lack. Most faeries, regardless of court, were violent by nature. Order was ensured by rulers of the court; solitary fae were rare and were usually insane, as they were driven by their own agenda, nothing holding them back from creating their own little chaos. A sovereign provided order and security, and a court bestowed the feeling of belonging.

Myungsoo watches the queen come to a stop in front of the Unseelie murderer, before raising her hands to caress his grotesque face between long, nimble fingers.

“Your fate is death,” she says softly, but not so quiet as though the company could not hear her words, and she promptly snaps his neck, looking disdainfully at his body after it crumples to the grass in an untidy heap.

It is over with the flick of a wrist.

She makes her way back to her throne and the music unconfidently starts up again, the party resuming, and the body being disposed of in some matter by her subjects. Crickets begin to sing again noisily, but it’s almost lost over the music. The wind picks up in familiar summer gusts, and the events of the moment beforehand are long forgotten in the minds of the court.

Myungsoo returns to his place by the Seelie Queen’s side. He does not show his apprehension, but he has not missed the weight of the incident that transpired. Myungsoo takes his work quite seriously, and is often quiet, although he rarely misses things. “Milady,” he begins, “what of the Unseelie Queen?”

“She is already aware of the proceedings, I would imagine,” she replies, and gestures for wine to be brought. In a moment, a glass is presented to her and she takes a sip, managing to do even this with an air of refinement, a picture of grace. Outwardly, she does not seem concerned, but Myungsoo knows better. Her actions, although justified in his mind as well as the rest of the Seelie court’s, no doubt, will not go without vengeance from the infamous Unseelie Queen. 

War begins with a glass of wine.

______________________

The Unseelie Queen is composed upon her throne, features ice-cold as always, except, in rare circumstances, for when she reveals a chilling smirk when she finds something particularly amusing. Her fingers trace the iron arm absently, a dull hiss emanating from where it burns her skin, and there’s obvious tension from her court; sick anticipation of her reaction to the news and her next move.

For the most part, the party carries on (low-ranked faeries almost unconcerned with the matters of the court; they have no say in such things anyway and prefer not to meddle with such affairs), except for a select few faeries aware of the messenger inclining his head towards her nervously. It is quite plausible that he will remain untouched, as likely as he would be beheaded. The Unseelie Queen is not known to be forgiving, although she is also unpredictable. But the music continues to play, the mass agitating to the rhythm. Similarly to the Seelie court, there is also a banquet, but decorated with more sinister confections. Humans, unaware of their surroundings, dance in a trance-like state, much to the amusement of the Unseelie fae. It is unknown how long they’ve been there, or if they will ever return to their human world. It is common for Unseelie faeries to lure mortals down, sometimes releasing them after an indeterminate amount of time, to which they recall almost nothing, and are shocked to find a decade has passed, and nothing is familiar to them. Or, perhaps, they are kept as playthings, vacant eyes rolling as their insides are ripped apart on display for the enjoyment of others. Regardless, neither is an ideal fate. But the Unseelie court had no reservations about interfering waywardly with human lives. After all, human life was fickle, and there were so many, most would not notice if a few went missing and never returned. 

Although the Unseelie court was morally ambiguous, it was home to fae of legend; the dregs of faerie society were certainly not welcome here despite the court’s affinity for chaos and violence. Not all Unseelie fae were sadistic, some just enjoyed the lack of rules and the undeniable freedom the court granted. But Unseelie was ideal for the wicked and beautiful, the greatest of all being the Queen herself. While it was tossed freely about the faerie world that the Seelie Queen was the most beautiful, it was whispered that the Unseelie Queen was fairer; an unearthly beauty that almost made one forget about her impiety. Frequently garbed in a gown of black lace, thin across her body but for darker parts, resembling branches almost, stretched across her torso and thickened as they moved down her body. Her blonde locks were tied in an intricate way upon her head, with strategic parts, it seemed, framing her pale face, appearing paler because of the shock of signature red lipstick she often wore. Even her ears were pointed in the most desirable way. If there was a perfect face, it was said to be hers. Yet her eyes, black as the lace she sported and vacant, invoked fear, even from members of her own court. 

So she sat, messenger before her, bringing the news of death, trembling slightly under her gaze.

“Your Majesty.” His voice wavers, but he carries on. “His life was of no real significance. He was a low-ranked faerie, barely even-“

“Enough,” the Unseelie Queen’s voice cuts in, sharp as the blade of a dagger. 

He wisely shuts up, accepting that his fate will probably end in death, and will come sooner rather than later. To which he is also more than slightly bitter about, as he wasn’t the one who killed anyone, but just reported back loyally to his Queen. He regrets taking this position. 

To the Unseelie Queen, despite the actions of her faerie, a murder of a human did not warrant his death in return. His life was not equal to a puny mortal’s. And this was _her_ faerie, and thus his punishment, for trespassing, not taking life, should be administered by herself, and only her.

“The Seelie Queen wishes war, it seems,” she ponders. She likes the taste of war on her tongue. It’s sweet, like rich chocolate or sugary fruit. Something otherworldly in its desire. It’s been a while since she reveled in a battle. 

She waves the faerie that delivered the message to go, and for a moment, after he turns and begins to walk back, he believes that he got away. But from her throne the Queen snaps her fingers, and his heart bursts in his chest, and he lies on the ground in ignorance until the end.

______________________

“You shall go to the Unseelie Queen,” says the woman in the gold dress. She’s watching over her court, without blinking, every amount of her focus on them, but she addresses her right-hand man. It is almost dawn, and the lights in the trees are dimming, enchanted to do so as the sun comes up. The music softens and the instruments change. No longer are there heavy drum beats, but rather easier, lighter notes of flutes and string instruments come in. It’s almost unnoticeable, though, from their vantage point. The throng dwindles; the flourishing dancers weaving in complex patterns have left, taking their magic elsewhere. Faeries lay about lazily, like the rush of endless summer days. Birds chirp.

“Milady?” Myungsoo questions. He doesn’t find the prospect tempting, but he will carry out what his Queen asks him to. He also does not wish to query, but he can’t help but wonder why she would send him and not some other faerie of lesser importance. One does not play their best cards first. Also, he doesn’t want to see the Unseelie Queen. For obvious reasons. The Unseelie Queen was not known to be welcoming.

The Queen looks at him carefully. She understands Myungsoo more than he himself perhaps. She’s known him for a long time, and he’s probably the only faerie she trusts completely. His loyalty is unparalleled. For Myungsoo, though perhaps not the brightest in some aspects, was instinctually protective and remarkably in-tune with emotions, making his assistance exceptionally beneficial. “You wonder why I send you and not someone else,” she states, in a monotonous tone.

“I do not wish to doubt your methods,” he starts. But the Queen speaks before he can finish his sentence, which was drifting off anyway. Had he gone on, it would have been clear that he did doubt her methods, and she would have taken such as a challenge.

“The seriousness of the matter is shown by sending my most important man. I cannot have the Unseelie Queen assume I neglect to care about our precarious situation. Because it _is_ precarious. The Seelie court _cannot_ fight.” 

Myungsoo says nothing to this, inclined to wait for instructions rather than argue. The Seelie Queen hands Myungsoo a sealed envelope with her insignia embedded in the red wax. Sensing his reluctance, her eyes narrow. “You will go, Myungsoo. You _will_ present this letter to the Unseelie Queen. This war must be stopped before it begins.”

Myungsoo accepts the letter, and bows before leaving.

______________________

The equilibrium between the Seelie and Unseelie courts was continuously becoming more and more imbalanced. It was expected, of course, that one day they would be at each other’s throats again. It was also expected, that no matter how long it took, they would once again find peace, and with that mutual disgruntlement. That was the way things were, and would continue to always be. The rest of the faerie world, although expected their conflict, were not looking forward to it, knowing one day that one court would spark, but both would go up in flames.

Sungjong observed the Unseelie Queen from upon her throne of iron, a red velvet cushion the only thing keeping it from touching her skin and burning her. Not even the Unseelie Queen was immune to the detrimental effects of iron, of which burned the flesh of all fae, and, in copious amounts or a well-aimed blow, was fatal. There was bustle around her, faeries of great prominence doing her bidding. She seemed to be in deep thought, and he understood why. War was simply chess, and she had to make her first, crucial move. Sungjong also saw more than he ever let on.

Music pounded in Sungjong’s ears, echoing off the stone walls, to which roots of trees from above occasionally broke through, winding and twisting around the nearest objects in beautiful ways. There was a drum beat, some kind of synth, off-kilter piano, and often there were haunting, harmonizing voices; the deep tones of a man and the high reaching notes of a female. He made his way through the mob of dancing fae, away from the Queen. God knows he wanted to get away from that mess. It was better to lose himself in a labyrinth of gyrating bodies. But that’s what he’s been doing for decades, and he didn’t know how long he could keep it up without feeling the negative effects.

There was some sort of wine being passed around, faeries eagerly taking long gulps, their pupils widening disturbingly. Light was scarce, coming from ornamental metal and glass chandeliers that hung from above, and they casted long, deep shadows. They reminded Sungjong of stars; obviously fake, of course, but after years of gazing up upon them they became his sky.

A human female danced beside him, long brown hair brushing against him sporadically. A silver goblet was passed to her, containing wine. Sungjong quickly took it from her eager hands, so ready she was to take a sip. But the wine would only cause her to lose herself even more, and with the amount that she had been meaning to drink, the entirety of the cup, would kill her. A taste of wine upon her lips and she would be bereaved of all hope of returning to the human world above. Sungjong passes the goblet to a male faerie attempting to grind behind him, his green skin looking even more eerie underneath the abnormal light. It was hot. Stifling, really. Faeries were tightly packed together. Shark-like teeth glinted and long nails scratched against tender skin. 

Sungjong was lost.

Eventually he moves out from the mass of the Unseelie court. He breathes heavily against the cold white wall, chilling his warm skin. His shirt clings to him uncomfortably in some areas, despite its looseness. A faerie girl with semi-transparent wings and ears pointed past her head walks past, carrying a silver tray of ripe red apples. Sungjong takes one and bites into it, tasting life. 

Something makes him glance to the left. He’ll never ever know what it was, but he chances a look in that direction at the same time a figure in silver armour enters from under a delicate archway of winding roots. He looks significantly out of place. His hair is dark over elegantly pointed ears. His eyes are slanted and a warm brown. He’s incredibly handsome, and it shouldn’t make Sungjong look twice (faeries are notoriously pretty), but he does. He’s… light, Sungjong realizes. He radiates something that the Unseelie court lacks. And then he notices the intricate designs carved into his armour. For reasons he’ll never know, he treads gracefully over, once-bitten apple in hand.

“Now, pray tell,” Sungjong says over the heartbeat of the music. “To what means does the prince of the Seelie court pay the Unseelie dregs a visit?”

______________________

Myungsoo arrives at the hill designating the entrance to the inner circle of the Unseelie court. There’s inebriated fae dancing irregularly to faint music. They’re glamoured, adding protruding cheekbones and tails and whatever else they’ve come up with. He ignores them, despite blood that stains their clothes in suspicious ways. In situations like these, Myungsoo has learned not to stare or pry.

Unseelie faeries had no reservations about glamour, often using it however they pleased, adding trendy embellishments onto themselves, and/or enhancing already striking features. There were numerous faeries in the Unseelie court with animal characteristics, of which was the latest fashion, Myungsoo assumed. However, the Seelie court believed that glamour should only be used when necessary. It was viewed as a lie. And to carry such a lie about for no reason other than vanity was something that was completely superfluous. Myungsoo himself had no real stance on the issue, although he often did not use glamour himself.

He follows the growing drumming sounds underground through a walkway and subsequently underneath an entranceway of what looked to be neatly twined roots of some sort. From there he is faced with a massive, pulsing horde of faeries, swaying to music echoing off white stone walls. There was a vast, arched ceiling, brown, perhaps made of dirt (Myungsoo had no idea), to which lanterns are hung, enchanted to burn bright indefinitely. He feels the beat of the music in his bones, making his very being vibrate and he has no clue what to make of it. A faerie woman glamoured to have an extra set of feline ears atop her head hisses at him from the group of dancers, to which Myungsoo says nothing, but glares at after she passes. A banquet table is laid out as well, with intimidating treats upon it. The spiked pumpkin looked particularly frightening. 

And yet he cannot spot the Unseelie Queen from within the depths of the court. The letter burns from where it hides inside his armour, a gift from his Queen for his loyalty along with his promotion tens of years ago as her knight. It was for show, but also for protection. It would not be the first time that someone has attempted to see to his death, figuring that a move such as that would weaken the Seelie court. But Myungsoo has a certain aptitude for avoiding death, it seems, and not even numerous battles have trumped him.

The Unseelie court has neglected to notice him, who he really is, something he is quite thankful for. They continue, too intoxicated, he’s sure, to lose themselves in wine and other drugs.

And suddenly a soft voice cuts through it all. “Now, pray tell, to what means does the prince of the Seelie court pay the Unseelie dregs a visit?” And Myungsoo turns to his right.

There’s a faerie standing with an apple in one tattooed hand. In fact, the intricate ink trails up both his delicate wrists and underneath his loose white shirt that is starting to fall off one pale shoulder, exposing sharp collarbones. The tattoos shimmer peculiarly out of the corner of Myungsoo’s eye, so he knows they’re glamour, and not genuine. But his face makes Myungsoo freeze where he is and not just brush him off. He’s got long black hair spiked up and a design shaved into the side. And yet this contrasts so greatly with this features. He’s beautiful; large, brown, cat-like eyes with long lashes and lightly arched eyebrows. Pink lips point sharply, much like his ears. His nose slopes slightly, a freckle the only imperfection on his face, and somehow it makes him more flawless to Myungsoo. From their proximity, Myungsoo guesses they’re about the same height, but the other faerie seems much lighter than himself, almost like he could blow away with a gust of strong wind. Like he was more negative than positive space. And he looks out-of-place; like he’s trying to blend in, but something doesn’t quite match, doesn’t quite fit. It’s his eyes, he eventually comprehends. They’re sad, but one would only notice if they looked hard enough. 

Myungsoo doesn’t know what to make of the willowy faerie in front of him. So instead he says, “My reputation precedes me, then.” Usually, those words would come out naturally, but he feels ashamed of them as soon as he speaks them. Too cocky.

The faerie snorts. “Confident words for one in the depths of enemy territory.” 

“And yet none of your comrades have noticed my presence.” Myungsoo is intrigued by him, so very much so. He shouldn’t be, but he is.

Then Myungsoo is staring right into his eyes and he takes as he takes another step forward, their chests almost touching. The music has morphed into a weighty, reverberating drumbeat accompanied by a lone singer, her voice raspy and confident. 

“Comrades they are not,” he utters over the music. Myungsoo’s eyes flicker down to his lips as each word slides off his tongue. Something about the words just spoken fascinates him. There’s tension between them, something they can both feel, and Myungsoo’s heart beats in time to the song. 

It takes someone exceedingly captivating to make Myungsoo forget about his mission. And this someone succeeded. He blames with strangeness of the Unseelie court for his next actions, as he doesn’t quite feel like himself.

He doesn’t notice he’s within the crowd until after he’s surrounded by Unseelie fae, and he and the stranger are dancing exceptionally close, his thin fingers tangled in Myungsoo’s hair. Something about the Unseelie court and Unseelie fae is especially tantalizing. Maybe it’s the danger. Their noses brush against each other. The chandeliers hanging from above reflect in the boy’s eyes, turning the brown into liquid amber. Whiskey upon ice. Honey. His lashes are too black against his skin. Myungsoo inhales and the faerie smells dark but sweet; like cinnamon, perhaps. He cannot name it. Their breath intermingles. He feels like he’s awake and asleep at the same time; his mind blurry, like he’s submerged in the space between awake and falling asleep, but his body electric. 

“Sungjong,” the faerie breathes against his lips. And Myungsoo wonders if he ever had a chance to resist.

______________________

Sungjong feels alive again, as if he’s been unconscious for so long, entire existence a daze, but he’s finally opened his eyes again. Their kiss breathes air into his stale lungs, brushing cobwebs away from around his heart. He feels warm for the first time in long years. From what he can tell, there’s no magic involved between them, but it certainly feels like it.

He barely hears the name, “Myungsoo,” whispered in his ear in return, accompanied by nips to his neck and jaw. Sungjong feels more than hears his own breathy moans in response. There’s a warm hand leaving pleasant pressure on his waist. Sungjong’s long nails clink on Myungsoo’s armour as he grips his broad shoulders. Myungsoo’s warm lips return to his, making his own tingle and heat up. 

Time slows. Neither of them could say if it was minutes, hours, or years since they had met. Realistically, not much time has passed, but every movement is slowed down to a quarter speed. Sungjong’s crosshairs narrow in on the point at which their lips meet, and where their hands grip each other. It feels strange and wonderful and scary all at the same time. He doesn’t understand why the air between them crackles with lightning, and why the boy in armour makes everything feel so right, finally calming his tempestuous storm. And Sungjong can feel himself slipping away, into oblivion perhaps, like the rest of the Unseelie faeries around them, drowning gently. And he would like nothing more than to go, but he cannot, oh god he cannot, and his eyes snap open. 

Sungjong breaks their kiss. “You must go,” he says seriously, forcefully, the knight’s eyes glazed over with a questioning look. His pupils are wide, like the fae around them, and Sungjong feels fear.

Sungjong comprehends at that point how stupid they’ve - he’s - been. Then Myungsoo seems to return to reality, jerking away from him, and in the process colliding with a dark-skinned faerie with dull eyes and gills on the side of her neck. And Sungjong can see barely-contained rage on his handsome face; the thoughts running through his mind obvious: he thinks Sungjong used magic on him, to seduce him and distract him from delivering the message to the queen. Sungjong’s heart throbs painfully in his chest, because he doesn’t know what to think of that, but he pushes him in the right direction.

“Continue that way,” Sungjong utters, voice trembling a bit, and he doesn’t know why. It’s cold suddenly, and he feels exposed. “When in doubt, follow the lights.” 

It’s stupid, Sungjong thinks as Myungsoo all but flees his presence in a rush, not sparing him a look and saying nothing to him. Ridiculous of him to even indulge in that for a moment. No matter how drawn he was to the Seelie court’s white knight, for whatever inexplicable reason, it would do nothing but bring him misfortune. 

Sungjong watches Myungsoo make his way through the crowd, silver armour slicing through the fae like a knife through rare meat, and he feels like he’s misplaced something important.

______________________

Myungsoo is enraged, but completely at himself. He lost his head, and while he would like to blame the entirety of the situation on the foreign magic of the Unseelie court, he reprimands himself more. Such actions were intolerable for someone of his position, but even more so at such a crucial point, where he might be the key to stopping a war between his court and their greatest rival. For a moment, he believed he was under a spell, but he sensed no magic at work, of which he was ruthlessly trained to detect. And when the boy – _Sungjong_ \- pushed him away, it cemented the fact in his mind that it was as out of his control as it was his own. Because in those eyes he saw fear, which he didn’t quite understand, but had no time to ponder what the cause of that was. Myungsoo has a job, and he is depended on to complete it.

So he follows the lights. Surrounded by an intricacy of grotesquely beautiful faeries, navigation was difficult. The walls all looked the same; there was no variation in the surroundings. Myungsoo supposed this was strategic. After all, there were rumours that no one ever escaped the Unseelie court. Perhaps it was because they couldn’t find their way out. 

Generally, the faeries would part for him, but once in a while there was a stubborn one, interested in persuading him to drink from a silver chalice, to which he sternly refused and carried on. It came to the point where Myungsoo didn’t know if he was making any progress; walking for what seemed like infinity through intoxicated crowds. For the faeries around him began to swim and blend into one another. It was like being lost in a forest, where the canopy of the trees was too thick for one to detect where the sun was, and everything looked the same. It was dizzying. Soon the surroundings, because of their eerie resemblance to each other, would begin to entrance you, and navigation was futile. 

And then he gazed up at the throne, at the queen who sat upon it. She was beautiful in a way that covered up how dangerous she was, like fire. It was enchanting, watching flames, and it hypnotized you in a way that you almost reached out to touch it, but at the last second remembered yourself. She was clad in black lace, speaking insistently with what seemed to be a guard: a faerie with lilac-tinted skin and wings of a dragonfly, armed with a sword. 

“Your majesty,” Myungsoo declares confidently, striding up to the throne and inclining his head minutely (she was not his queen after all).

He is noticed finally. The fae around the queen snap to attention, ready for a fight if need be. He takes out the white envelope with the seal and holds it out politely. “I have been sent to deliver this to you.” 

The Unseelie Queen stares at him with black eyes that could immobilise lesser faeries with terror. Myungsoo does not move, however, staring straight at her with confidence he does not feel and his chin held high. She takes the letter without a fragment of emotion. “The Seelie Queen is imprudent enough to send me her white knight?” Her voice is smooth, enchanting, but her tone is a mixture of tightly-concealed disbelief and mockery. 

Myungsoo is silent as he watches her rip open the seal and read the letter between long, sharp nails. The faeries amongst her are nervous, he can tell. He himself gives nothing away, after years of discipline to school his emotions. He is simply a suit of armour, interaction earlier that night put out of his mind, as his duties come first. What happened earlier could not happen again. He still feels the echoes of fingers running through his hair.

The letter being set aflame catches his attention. The swarm of dancing fae nearest to the throne stills for the first time in years upon years. All of everyone’s concentration is on Myungsoo, in shining silver armour, and the queen. 

“She dares believe an apology shall repair this?” asks the Unseelie Queen with a voice of fire. The lights flicker. She had risen from her chair after burning the Seelie Queen’s act of contrition between long fingers.

“The Seelie Queen does not wish for war,” Myungsoo states with a compelling tone. His voice carries out in the hall and he stands a little straighter; he has the tendency still to slouch. The faeries tense around him, and the queen’s guard reaches for his sword. The guard goes no further when his queen steps forward, her dress flowing behind her like ink blotting upon paper. She is everything one would want in a queen.

“Well,” she smiles maliciously, and it’s disturbing. Her beautiful face is close to Myungsoo’s now, but he does not blink, transforms into something monstrous with the uplifting of her lips. “Tell your master that war is coming, regardless of what she wishes.”

Myungsoo turns and absconds, the faeries parting to let him escape. The crowd makes noise of approval at their queen’s words. There’s hooting and screaming and laughing as he makes his exit, the Unseelie Queen’s eyes blazing into his back. He passes faces of nightmares; picturesque visages made sinister by the shadows and the twisting of their expressions. Mouths with sharp teeth gape unnaturally wide. They follow him out, like a swarm of flies after fresh meat. Myungsoo looks back.

______________________

Sungjong wakes up lying on the hill at the entrance to the Unseelie Court interior; that is, the queen’s throne room and the hall to which her infamous parties take place. If there is but a constant in the Unseelie court, it is violence and dancing, often combined. The parties never do end, as days pass so quickly amongst the mob. It is unsurprising to find faeries dance until they drop dead, occasionally disregarded and pounded into the floor by eager feet. There’s still the booming of music, but it’s muffled by a layer of grass and dirt and whatever else holds up the vast ceiling. His head throbs in time to the song, and he doesn’t quite recall how he got there at first. He certainly doesn’t remember drinking anything. But who knows. What he does dredge up is the vision of Myungsoo brushing past him looking like the sun with the light glinting off his armour. It sticks in his mind like nothing else, which succeeds in doing nothing but making him irritated.

He brushes his hair out of his eyes from where it had fallen. It feels peculiar, like it’s sticking up in a bizarre direction and flattened oddly in patches. He figures he lay on it weirdly for too long. There’s a faerie passed out in her own vomit a handful of metres away. She has horns spiraling from her head, which tilts her neck at what seems to be a painful angle. Sungjong sits up and fixes his glamour; touches up his tattoos, changes some, flattens his hair down.

Somehow he feels empty. And not so deep down he knows it has to do with Myungsoo. They had a brief meeting, he assumes; he doesn’t actually know how long they spent together. It seems like a long time, like centuries had passed. He almost feels older; and maybe he is. But he can’t get him out of his head. It isn’t pleasant, these worrying thoughts he’s having. Sungjong is tearing himself apart. He’s certainly felt lust and attraction before, recently even, countless times with one-night stands, hastily getting off in the vacant halls and rooms of the Unseelie court underground. Myungsoo is different, and he makes something stir inside him that he has not felt in an inordinate length of time. This only succeeds in making him more irritated, because just because they had kissed – shortly after meeting, he should add – certainly did not mean it meant anything. And even though Seelie fae were notoriously romantic (they all held this ideology that love would conquer all no matter what), it was far more likely that their brief encounter was no more than just that: an encounter. And by the looks of how the Seelie knight - _Myungsoo_ – appeared when they had parted, he definitely did not enjoy what had transpired. Which was fine, Sungjong did not need anyone. He was fine on his own.

He still felt empty though. These thoughts circled around in his head for a while longer, making him progressively angrier. 

When he was a child, he would often catch fireflies, before he learned how cruel it was. It was an activity faerie children often engaged in; a game of sorts. Innocent playing. When dusk broke, the forest filled with flying lights, and that was more enchanting than magic. So Sungjong would race through the trees, branches and twigs and plants scraping at his knees, long hair flying in his face. He never had wings, but he flew, long grass gripped between his toes. And when he had trapped enough inside a jar, the fireflies buzzing around and pressing against the lid, they would shine an otherworldly light, like the magic that flowed from him. When he thinks of Myungsoo, he feels imprisoned insects in his stomach, trying desperately to get out. They’re magical and wondrous, but also so awful. But he also thinks of comfort and home.

It scares him. Terrifies him. Not just the strange attraction, but the promptness of it all as well. It had been so long, and yet it was too soon. Most of all it was too much. It reminds him of something he lost. And every part of him screams that involvement with the Seelie faerie is a dangerous idea (not to mention forbidden), and yet he desires.

A voice thankfully punctures his thoughts. “Do you…. Where…”

There’s a human male, visibly confused, standing before him. He has olive skin and brown hair, and Sungjong would find the young man attractive usually, but the sparks of temptation do not arise. The human in question, dressed in baggy clothing with lettering that makes no sense to Sungjong embroidered onto it, quite possibly got drunk and awoke on faerie ground. He has stubble on his face, so it is plausible. Likely he’s still a bit intoxicated now. And he should be lucky he is alive, and not a plaything for the more violent and sadistic Seelie fae. 

Sungjong stands and takes his hand, saying nothing, despite the human’s incessant questions. The magic he casts works better when he does not speak. He takes him far enough into the forest that the effects of the Unseelie court influence have greatly lessened. With a press of his thin fingers against the man’s forehead, he erases any memories of faerie and of Sungjong himself. Perhaps it is not necessary, as he detects a faint whiff of human alcohol upon him, but humans do have a tenacity for spreading their wild ideas about. Sungjong pushes him in the direction of human civilization and watches him bumble around until he no longer could be seen. 

He looks up at the trees, with too dark a canopy to see the sky, and he remembers he wanted to see the stars last night.

______________________

Myungsoo never believed he would return to the Unseelie court, but alas he was tormented by a faerie with ink-black hair and tattoos.

Upon his return on Seelie grounds, to which, his discovered, he was only slightly late back to, he delivered the bad news to his queen. He is met with the disdain and rising fear of his court.

“The Unseelie Queen must be convinced,” she states simply, confidently. Myungsoo almost believes her. He witnessed the glint in her interminable black eyes at the prospect of war, and knows it shall not be trouble-free. The Unseelie Queen is vicious, and he tells his queen so. She is most likely already assembling an army. 

The Seelie Queen frowns at this. “Call upon the assembly,” she demands. 

Myungsoo recognizes her desperation. Her royal advisors were only called to assemble when she was greatly running out of options, as Myungsoo had learned. No longer could she sit upon her throne and hope that a letter of apology, regardless of whether she had done wrong or not, would appease anyone. Together she and her faeries would discuss until the best possible decision came to light. Myungsoo’s opinions, however, despite his loyalty and his queen’s dependence on him, on what move to make next were of no concern to her or anyone. He was her right-hand man; her assassin and guard. Sometimes he was her spy in the darkest times, and on even less occasion, his judgement was called upon. But he was not especially known for his foresight. 

Which leaves him alone, as his queen converses with Seelie faeries of utmost importance.

Centuries by his queen’s side should have curbed any instinct to leave his post. And he may as well have been made of marble by how long he’s stood guard, ready for anything the Seelie Queen demanded. But as soon as she is out of his sight he feels a great longing to flee. There’s a tingling inside him, a niggling voice telling him to go. He doesn’t think about why he desperately needs to see the boy from the Unseelie court, just knows he has to.

Myungsoo feels like war had already begun, but instead it is inside him, manifesting itself in the desire to see the tattooed Unseelie boy and the reason and purpose of staying at his queen’s side. 

“Do it,” says a familiar voice, and Myungsoo turns to gaze into large blue eyes, “whatever troubles you. I can see your mind working from under the depths of the pond. You look blank, but your eyes go hard as granite.” The nymph, Ophelia, had materialized by his side, speaking lowly, cautious of being over-heard.

“I have a duty,” he says, albeit unconfidently. He shifts slightly. It won’t take much to convince him.

The nymph scoffs. If Myungsoo had an ally, someone who he could maybe, possibly, call a friend, it was Ophelia, the nymph from the pond across the glade, hidden behind swaying reeds and under the canopy of trees. They met by accident, when Myungsoo stumbled (quite literally) upon her pond and mistaking her for the mermaid he was sent to find. Needless to say she hadn’t been flattered by the remark, as she thought of the mermaids as pesky and useless and vapid. She then gave him a piece of her mind, which did nothing but intrigue Myungsoo even more. He visited her often after that. 

Ophelia was about a head shorter than Myungsoo, and usually garbed in as little as possible when on land. The pond was a different story. Her eyes were wide, to let light in better, as she was often by the water or in it, and her hair was long and dark, cascading waves trailed down her back. She, unlike most Seelie fae, was rather shy towards party life, preferring to observe from the comfort of shade. But her silence was made up for by her sound advice, and many a time did Myungsoo ask her for it. She believed he lacked sense sometimes. He disagreed.

“You are more reckless than you believe yourself to be.” Her voice was like silk, not only entrancing humans, but faeries occasionally as well. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she says, “your mind is already made up. It was long before our queen left your side. Whatever it is that has you so torn, that makes you appear to want to flee from here at once, is something that you must, and shall, do.”

It’s easy to believe her, her confidence alarming almost. But Myungsoo needed a shove in the right direction, and Ophelia was here to give it. 

It takes a great deal of deliberation, but a single moment of callousness to forgo the Seelie court glade, turning away from the throne, the nymph (who had disappeared. Figures), and the table where the assembly sat in a flash of silver armour, which he decides to rid himself of with a snap of his fingers, in favour of something more incognito. He was quite recognizable with the armour on, hardly ever seen without it, and it would do him no good if he was to sneak into the Unseelie court. He couldn’t chance to be recognized this time, not when he wasn’t there on business.

He’s clothed in only a simple pair of dark pants and a shirt, but he feels invincible. No faerie, not even the pixie dozing by a tree that he nearly steps on (she charms his shirt to invert itself, but he fixes it with minimal difficulty, muffling a curse as he puts it back on, stumbling), attempts to stop him.

And so he finds himself once again in a mass of swaying Unseelie fae. The music is as beautiful and eerie as it always is, much like the faeries that belong to the court, so foreign to him.

Now that Myungsoo is here, he doesn’t know what to do. He sporadic burst of rebellion has fallen flat with the tumultuous realization that the Unseelie court is vast, and it is nigh impossible to find the one faerie he’s looking for. But his lack of armour, perhaps the one singular thing he thought through clearly, is enough for him to blend in. It also helps that most of them are in a state of intemperance. 

His grand idea is to mingle and hope for the best. Shortly, in record time, he thinks, after merging with the crowd, he is propositioned by a short faerie with hair the colour of ocean waves during a storm, but he quickly waves them away, much to their disappointment. His reputation as being off the market circulates, and soon the offers dwindled.

Myungsoo almost gives up, accepts that whatever this was, was senseless. Like most Seelie faeries, however, he believed in fate, but never more in the moment he glimpses familiar tattoos and pale skin.

Sungjong is dancing wildly, with more grace than Myungsoo would have thought he possessed. He has a languid way of moving; where his own movements are sharp, Sungjong’s flow into each other effortlessly. His shirt, white again, is loose, but fits tightly to his body whenever he twists in a certain way. The lights illuminate his curves through the gaps in the unrestricting fabric. His pants, however, leave nothing to the imagination, and adhere to long, slender legs and a surprisingly round bottom. His pale skin seems to glow under the chandeliers and the press of barely-constricted magic. He has studs in his ears, and they shine glaringly when the light hits them right. His tattoos, glamoured and slightly altered from the last time, are striking. They stretch up only on one arm, but on both hands, wrapping around thin knuckles and fingers, and the swirling designs are in a grey monochromatic scheme. His shirt lifts, and Myungsoo sees another, in a language he doesn’t understand, on the side of his hipbone. Most eye-catching is Sungjong’s face. His hair is once again spiked up in what looks to be an unforced manner. His lips are slightly parted, but the expression of ferocious abandon, like there are no expectations, is what suspends Myungsoo in a crowd of shifting beings. He’s stunning.

The Seelie court’s knight remembers himself when an arm snakes around Sungjong’s waist. A tall faerie with canine incisors comes up behind Sungjong and tips his face close to his ear, whispering something. Sungjong shrugs him off, and the man moves away, visibly disappointed.

Myungsoo steps forward before he consciously directs himself to do so, and realizes only that he’s moved when faced with Sungjong’s large eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Sungjong asks, and his eyes dart around, as if looking for something, and then whatever it is has passed, he fixes his sharp gaze upon Myungsoo. 

“I came back,” Myungsoo says, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and hopes the “ _for you_ ” is detectable.

______________________

Sungjong is unsure how to react. While half of him wishes to confess that he did feel something inexplicable between them, the other part of him wants to hold back. Because he was Sungjong of the Unseelie court, and nothing ended well for him. To be fair, he was expecting some stereotypical Seelie fae monologue, in which he was told that they were destiny, or something along those lines. However, the knight does not come to him with the urgency of cosmic providence, and that makes Sungjong interested enough not to alert anyone of his presence, as he is trespassing on Unseelie ground, but does not seem to care.

But Myungsoo is standing before him with lights in his eyes, and he looks every bit as handsome as the last time he saw him. Dressed in only plain clothing with hair swept to the side, he illuminates everything around him.

So Sungjong’s eyes narrow. “Well that was stupid of you.” And Myungsoo is looking at him intensely, in a way he can’t decipher the meaning of, and Sungjong doesn’t know what to do. “You are aware that they can recognize you?”

“Not without my armor.”

Sungjong makes an exasperated noise. “Although perhaps the most lowly of Unseelie court, as drunk and high as they are, may not be aware of your presence, you cannot hide from my queen and her guards.” He begins to pull Myungsoo out of the crowd, grasping his wrist with a tattooed hand and glancing around, head slightly down. Sungjong rarely touches, and Myungsoo’s skin is warm. “They can identify your face.”

Sungjong curses Seelie fae and their reluctance to be discreet about anything. Or, perhaps, their ignorance in thinking they were discreet when in fact they were the most obvious thing ever. And their unwarranted hatred of glamour did nothing but aid Myungsoo in sticking out unmistakably in the dark halls of the Unseelie underground. 

“I wanted to apologize for the last time,” Myungsoo states, albeit somewhat loudly over the music, when they’re off to the side. “I was sent here by the Seelie Queen-“

Sungjong hushes him at the sound of her name, but Myungsoo continues on. “And I believed my mission would be compromised. I do quite like you, actually.”

“That’s all very valiant,” Sungjong starts, “but I like you enough as well to tell you to flee before you’re noticed, else your skin shall become the queen’s new rug.” And Sungjong cannot explain why he finds Myungsoo’s behaviour endearing. He’s an idiot, Sungjong realizes, but an honest idiot. So he tells him so.

“You’re an idiot,” Sungjong growls lowly, and laces their fingers together. “Therefore I am obligated to see you out of here, before you inadvertently cause a war on top of this one or set something on fire.”

Sungjong certainly does not think about how Myungsoo is smiling behind him, or the dimple in one cheek that appears when he does so. He simply grips his hand a little tighter and leads him cautiously out into the fresh air, away from the loudness and the partying and his inescapable demise.

______________________

Sungjong takes him out onto the hill, leaving the heart of the Unseelie court behind, but he could still feel it beating underneath his feet in soft rumbles of bass coming from below. The air smells tarnished; a little ashy, like the corruption of the court has seeped into the air and polluted it. But it could also be equated to the few stumbling faerie that populated the surrounding terrain.

There was a faerie couple fooling around by the entrance. A ways off to his right there was a faerie vomiting up what seemed to be the entire contents of their torso on the roots of a tree, much to the amusement of a goblin that sat in the branches. The faerie then passed out, and the goblin proceeded to throw acorns down below, letting out a strange screeching noise when they hit the faerie in the face. Another faerie was making shapes out of the smoke they puffed from a pipe – a human contraption, remarkably out of place – giggling rambunctiously with their companions when they successfully made something in a concrete shape.

But despite all that, Myungsoo concentrated on the fluttery little feeling in his chest that made him feel warm and happy, all because of a thin, tattooed hand wrapped around his own.

Sungjong pauses, drops his hand (it feels kind of cold after the warmth from the other), and stops on the grassy slope, Myungsoo beside him. Sungjong looks like he’s deliberating, and Myungsoo has a feeling Sungjong doesn’t often show his deeper feelings never mind talk about them. But he doesn’t push, and instead waits for his companion to think through whatever it is he’s thinking of.

And then Sungjong turns to him and gives him a bit of a smile before running down the hill. Just runs, taking bounding strides with the moonlight shining off him, and loose shirt fluttering. Myungsoo stares as he makes it to the bottom, unsure of what to do. 

“Come on, then,” Sungjong yells, and Myungsoo thinks he’s underestimated him. Because with Sungjong you have to expect the unexpected; he’s just as likely to run towards you as he is to run away. And Myungsoo has been wound up so tightly for centuries, duty always coming before anything else. Except a certain Unseelie faerie he met by chance has completely set him free of obligation, and while he isn’t sure of if this is a good thing, Myungsoo is unable to deny how _right_ everything feels. 

So Myungsoo runs right after him, letting out a bit of a shout as the ground levels out and he blunders around a bit, but follows the boy through the long grass that tickles his arms, stars twinkling above them. It all seems so ridiculous at first, but maybe that’s the point.

“Where are we going?” he calls, but Sungjong just turns his head back for a moment and smiles brightly - it lights up his whole face - leading him towards the woods.

The woods, beyond the hill and the field of grasses that are lush in the summer, are on the edges of Unseelie court territory. At some point, they stretched beyond it, into something Myungsoo did not know about. Most likely it was home to solitary fae, of which were dangerous and volatile, lacking direction from a queen or king or ruler of some sort. He starts to slow, worried of the night and the darkness and the unknown within the trees.

Sungjong turns around and grasps his hand again. “Do not worry,” he says, “I followed a brownie once.” As if that explained everything.

Myungsoo’s knowledge of brownies (a fickle Unseelie faerie) was as follows: He knew they snuck into human homes and would terrorize the residents until they were accepted payment in whatever form they wished, and were thus rather devious and rude. And he also knew that if you asked one why they were trespassing on Seelie land, they would punch you rather hard on the nose and then run off before you knew what happened. 

Needless to say he was not comforted by this information.

He follows Sungjong anyway, once again feeling tingles because of their hands. He is quite thankful that Sungjong does decide to hold onto him, as he does manage to almost fall more often than he would like to admit, which makes the boy laugh in high, choked giggles and ask how he succeeded in becoming the white knight of the Seelie court when he couldn’t jump over a log.

Sungjong leads him through a winding path that makes no sense to him, but they don’t travel for long. When they slow down the trees are thinning out, but he cannot make out what they’re moving towards.

Then Sungjong brushes aside a branch, and they’re overlooking the stars.

Myungsoo sees lights, more than in the sky perhaps. Thousands upon thousands and he’s trying to do the math, counting staggered rows in no visible pattern. The lights illuminate the sky, shielding the real stars from view with a glow amongst the dark. He can see some moving, and clusters of them in various locations. Their expanse is vast, stretching on into the distance, where he makes out taller structures and blinking lights.

They’re standing on a large rock jutting out from the ground that overlooks a human city, he realizes, that seems to house an innumerable amount. 

Myungsoo lets out a breath and Sungjong makes a humming noise in the back of his throat. 

“I followed a brownie once. Turns out there’s some sort of rift, if you take the right path, which brings you to the human world.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

Myungsoo is not entirely sure what makes Sungjong open up like this, to show him a part of himself so sincerely private, but there is a sense of rightness in his company, so perhaps Sungjong is picking up on that too. Perhaps he simply had a lot to drink. Myungsoo is still in the process of figuring the other out, but from what he has witnessed he senses a complexity about him, something he is willing and eager to spend an immeasurable amount of time deciphering. 

Sungjong sits down on the rock, shifting so his legs hang over the edge, and conjures a little light of his own to float by them. Myungsoo sits down too, next to him, somewhat nervous of the height, so he sits a bit back from the edge instead of letting him dangle in mid-air. He does not have wings, and neither does Sungjong – not all faeries do – so if he falls, it would not end well for him. Sungjong is adept at magic, from what Myungsoo can tell, but unfortunately he is not.

They don’t say much for a while, but the silence is nice. Myungsoo likes the quietness; it’s hard to come by. Sometimes there are noises coming from the human city; loud horns or blaring alarms. Mostly it’s soundless among the breeze rustling the leaves and the crickets chirping. And he recognises then that he genuinely enjoys Sungjong’s companionship. In this moment he feels especially fond of the boy, and there’s a pleasant warmth in his chest.

“I…,” Sungjong starts, and he looks down in a way Myungsoo realizes is an embarrassed and nervous gesture. He avoids contact when he is unsure of his feelings. “I used to come here a lot. To escape from the Unseelie court.”

“I can understand why.” Myungsoo remembers the horrors of the court he saw in the brief time he was there. Blood and flesh and fear. 

“They are not all bad,” Sungjong says weakly. And perhaps not, but they were certainly much different from what Myungsoo knew. Seelie faeries were upholders of justice. They believed in honour, and dying an honourable death. To protect. To cherish. That love surmounts all.

Instead of trying to convince the tattooed faerie otherwise he says, “I believe you.” Because if the Unseelie court wished to behave in that manner and kept it to themselves, then it did not matter to him.

He’s awarded with a shy smile, dark shadows stretching across one side of his face from the lights below. It makes Myungsoo smile back.

It feels a little bit like home. Overlooking the lights like stars.

______________________

Sungjong finds his days no longer melt together anymore, but are now individual times. Before he used to be directionless, mindlessly living out his eternity, or as close to that as he would get. Faeries did not live forever, nothing did, but did live numerous human lifetimes, if one wished to count out time in fickle mortal existences. He met Myungsoo and suddenly he was aware of moments passing by, instead of living through them in a haze. He is no longer a passive being in his timeline. It thrills him and scares him at the same time.

He meets Myungsoo most nights. He doesn’t know how the other sneaks away, being the right-hand man to the Seelie Queen, but he reassures him that she is quite busy and has a friend that often covers for him. And it is always easier to escape in the evening. Myungsoo had not kissed him since the first time they met. He is both relieved and disappointed. He makes flowers bloom in Sungjong in places he thought were barren. 

They talk. It gets easier to the more they know each other. Myungsoo is sharp in a way that is not immediately obvious. Sungjong notices he watches, picks up on little things, follows how his hands move when he talks. He also never inquires further into subjects that he is uncomfortable with, never pries when Sungjong refuses to elaborate. He likes that. Also, he has a sharp tongue in his head, responding with spectacular wit that makes Sungjong burst out into laughter. He is amiable company, and Sungjong acknowledges why the Seelie Queen chose him as her right-hand man.

His own queen, unfortunately, has noticed his absence. While he is a faerie of no real status, the queen had taken a liking to him when he first showed up in the Unseelie court long years ago. 

Sungjong returns to the court one morning, after a night with Myungsoo, wondering why he seemed to find Sungjong interesting, when he really wasn’t anything special, to be ambushed by the queen a moment after arriving. He feels a push, directing him towards the throne, and knowing it is the queen demanding his presence, he goes without a fight, pressing through sweaty bodies and the vibrations of echoing music. 

He steps up to her throne, where she sits like a nightmare. She is immaculate in her appearance, from her black eyes and red lips, to her long flowing dress that spreads out like blood escapes from a fatal head injury. She sits tall, like she owns everything and everyone, and maybe she does a little. Sungjong greets her by bowing, but only after receiving a withering look from a guard on her left. 

“Come here,” she demands, and he walks tautly up the few remaining steps, but still stands below her, as customary. He is afraid, so afraid of if she had found out about what he actually does during his nighttime escapades. Because he has not forgotten the promise of war, and the simmering tension between the Seelie and Unseelie courts. Although, he figures that if she had discovered he spent nights beside the Seelie Queen’s most trusted, he would probably already be dead. Or at least be as good as dead.

She stands, and her dress seeps down her like water, making no wrinkles. With one finger she tilts his chin up to gaze straight into her black eyes. He doesn’t flinch, or move in any other way, despite a chill emanating from her.

“Sungjong,” she ponders, and the syllables fall off her lips like rain cascading down leaves in a storm. She tilts her head slightly, and she’s beautiful even like that. “Where have you been going off to, hmm?”

He says nothing. His only movement is chest moving with his shallow breaths. 

She chuckles, and it’s as harsh as ice on bare skin. “Got a mysterious lover?”

Sungjong looks down and off to the side, his chin dislodging from her grip and falling slightly. Although he doesn’t say anything, attempting to avoid her, it gives him away; he was never really that good at confrontation. He finds it hard to lie directly, so he often looks away. 

His reaction causes her to smile cruelly at him. She raises her hand to his cheek. “I shall find out eventually.” Because she liked to know what her favourites were up to. Sungjong can’t repress a shiver. She is frost: stunning and silent and peaceful, but so, so cold. She strokes his cheek with her thumb slowly. “You wouldn’t betray me, now would you?”

Sungjong wants to squirm and get away, but she holds him there without using any physical force. Magic, maybe, or perhaps just the power of her stare.

“No, your Majesty,” he whispers. And he hates himself.

“Of course not.” He hears the implied “you are too timid and weak to do so.” 

She stares straight at him, eyes piercing right through any sort of walls of defense he has. And then her dark eyes seem to glimmer, like she knows something amusing. “You’re more Unseelie than you believe.”

It hits him hard and chills him to the bone. She lets go of his face and releases him from the cold; sits back onto her throne and the music fades back in. Sungjong hadn’t even realized it was silent until the bass and the noise of the crowd come back. He blinks.

“You may go.” That’s invitation enough for Sungjong to flee, calmly walking down the platform, before speeding up the farther away from the queen that he got. He could still feel her icy fingers on his cheek and it made him feel hollow.

______________________

“Fireflies,” Sungjong says one night.

Myungsoo lies on the grass on his stomach and watches Sungjong, who is leaning against a tree, make little fireflies appear in the air, before they fade into yellow sparks and finally into nothing. They’re in the forest, just inside the edge of the Unseelie court line, because neither of them feel like playing with fire tonight. It’s warm, like a night in the middle of summer should be, and not a gust of wind to be felt. Crickets chirp like always; they never do seem to shut up no matter the circumstances. The air smells fresh, like summer and grass and earth; untainted yet by the Unseelie Queen’s wrath. Pre-war movements continue to take place, pawns are making room for the larger pieces, and Myungsoo has yet to realize the full severity of the oncoming storm. 

“What about fireflies?” Myungsoo asks.

“When I was young I used to catch them in jars, and it was like I had the swirling galaxies between my hands.” Sungjong looks a little bit distant. “Did you ever do that?”

Myungsoo smiles. “Yeah.” He shifts and rolls over a bit so he’s lying on his side with his hand propping up his head. “As a kid I used to run around after the sun set and try to grab them, but I was never quick enough. They always seemed to evade me because I was rather clumsy. But it made a fun game.” He looks a little distant at the resurgence of memories.

Sungjong hums and shuts his eyes as silence befalls them. He is gorgeous, Myungsoo thinks, with spiked hair and tattoos. Even without, though that would be a drastic change he isn’t sure he could handle. And he makes Myungsoo feel warm all over. Sometimes he gets caught staring, and he should be the one embarrassed and look away, but Sungjong always does instead.

Myungsoo wants to trace the lines of his face, past his slightly curved nose and his lips, down his neck and underneath his shirt and beyond. Although that was probably inappropriate, seeing as Sungjong appeared to be very shy around him sometimes.

Instead he tries to envision Sungjong as a child, playing with insects. Chubby cheeks and small hands. A flop of black hair. But the same wide eyes. It makes him grin.

Except there’s one thing that doesn’t quite make sense.

“Sungjong.”

“Hmm?”

Myungsoo frowns. “There are no fireflies in the Unseelie court.”

Fireflies, although they miraculously made it to the human world, had yet to stray into Unseelie ground. In fact, they tended to stay as far away as they could from there. No one was really sure why.

Slowly Sungjong opens his eyes and glances at him. “No, you are correct.” He seems to shut down at that, and Myungsoo does not want to pry, thinking that if this works out, whatever it is they have, Sungjong would tell him when he wanted to. Sungjong was a concealed shipwreck, battered upon rocks and scattered upon the ocean, and only he chose what pieces to let others see. 

Myungsoo looks at Sungjong, who is staring straight into his eyes, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion, like he expected him to ask questions. He still stays silent, and instead busies himself with some grass. Then decides against it after a few moments. He stands up instead.

“We can go if that is what you would like,” he utters in the silence, brushing off his pants.

But Sungjong does not speak a word, watching him still. There’s something in his stare that is different, something sinister in the best of ways, and it is electrifying. Their song has changed; the tempo, or perhaps the key, and the atmosphere has altered. Then he gets up as well, and walks straight up to him and never hesitates when he presses his lips to Myungsoo’s. 

He tastes like warmth and cinnamon. Myungsoo groans and presses back, tilts his head to the side and brings one hand up to the other’s face. Sungjong leans into it. Myungsoo feels the tingle of their lips ignite his entire body. It’s not urgent, not yet, but the possibility of it toes the line for a moment.

Myungsoo breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on Sungjong’s. They’re about the same height, so it works well. Their noses almost brush together, and Sungjong is breathing a little heavily. Myungsoo looks at the boy and realizes he’s happy. He hadn’t recognized that he hadn’t been before, until a strange faerie approached him at a dance, and told him stories of fireflies and magic and confessed his dreams underneath the night sky. He had always seen the world through a lens, one that had separated him from a feasible actuality, and only now had it become real life. 

He slowly leans forward to kiss Sungjong, cautiously waiting for a sign that he should stop, but Sungjong is as eager as he is, and kisses him back hard, velvety lips pressing harshly into the other’s. Myungsoo lets out a noise, and his hands move to Sungjong’s waist – smaller than he had thought – walking Sungjong backwards until the tattooed faerie is roughly pressed against the tree he was leaning against earlier. 

Myungsoo feels Sungjong’s fingers travel down his shoulders and his arms, and grips his biceps hard when Myungsoo’s tongue slides into his mouth, wet but not uncomfortable. Myungsoo controls the kiss for the most part; Sungjong content to let Myungsoo do what he wanted. 

One of Sungjong’s hands slide into his hair, and Myungsoo makes a low sound. His hands tighten on Sungjong’s waist and push him a little more against the bark of the tree. In turn, Sungjong lights the match the starts the real fire of their kiss, starting to press into each other with more desperation. Hands grapple at each other as they grow unbelievably closer. Sungjong’s fingers grip harder in Myungsoo’s hair as the Seelie faerie nips at Sungjong’s lip, quickly running his tongue over it. Sungjong gasps and presses back harder.

Myungsoo’s hands begin to push up Sungjong’s shirt, and he runs his hands over the smooth expanse of skin: down the curve of his waist and up the span of his back. Sungjong arches at the feel of warm hands, and slowly he removes his fingers from Myungsoo’s hair and, at the speed of certainty of eternity, rests them on his chest, against the buttons of his shirt.

Sungjong breaks away from Myungsoo, his pupils blown wide like he's been drinking faerie wine. They both breathe heavily in the quiet of the forest. Never breaking eye contact, Sungjong begins to open the first button on Myungsoo’s shirt, and Myungsoo can feel his nimble fingers against his skin. Sungjong does this gradually enough that Myungsoo knows that he’s asking if it’s okay; he’s waiting for him to tell him no. But Myungsoo does not want to stop. 

So Myungsoo places his hands over Sungjong’s, and he freezes in place, hands on the third button. Myungsoo gently lifts them away, and he notices Sungjong questioning his actions. He can almost see the thoughts spinning in his head as he draws back. But Myungsoo quickly undoes the rest of his shirt before Sungjong regresses too far back into himself. He’s not telling him no, but _faster._

Myungsoo rips the shirt from his shoulders and lets the almost weightless fabric flutter lifelessly to the grassy floor, before coming back to kiss Sungjong, whose lips are bright pink, with all the emotion he could muster. The Unseelie faerie sighs a little bit.

Clothes divest themselves quite quickly after that. They’re both shirtless, and Myungsoo is admiring the body in front of him, grazing over sides and sensitive nipples, when Sungjong pushes Myungsoo back hard enough that he tumbles rather gracelessly onto the grass. Myungsoo doesn’t have much time to react (other than to raise himself up on his elbows), because the other faerie straddles his waist and puts his hands on his slightly tanned shoulders.

Myungsoo feels a jolt of arousal at the press of Sungjong’s thighs and the weight of him against his hips. His skin is so pale; unearthly under the glow of the moon and stark against the ink of his glamoured tattoos, which he now notices run almost up the entire length of his arms. He lets himself lay back all the way as their lips meet again, giving in easily. Myungsoo can’t get himself to stop touching the other. With one hand he runs down the smoothness of Sungjong’s torso, leaving a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his touch. He stops when he reaches the waistband of Sungjong’s pants, but his hand is pushed underneath by Sungjong himself. 

Myungsoo groans at the feel of his ass underneath his fingers. He squeezes and Sungjong gasps into his mouth and rocks back against his touch, making Myungsoo let out a punched out moan as Sungjong’s ass grinds against his painfully hard dick, straining in tight pants.

He feels Sungjong grin against his lips and he repeats the move, setting a slow pace and driving Myungsoo crazy and all he can do is buck up to try and get more friction. Sungjong is soft and warm, and Myungsoo desperately chases after him. 

He’s getting close, never really thought he would last long to being with, but as if Sungjong can sense it, he stops and sits upright on Myungsoo’s hips again. Myungsoo glares at him, but the look is fleeting as Sungjong begins to unbuckle Myungsoo’s pants and he’s starting to forget what he was mad about again. 

Sungjong strips off Myungsoo’s pants – with some help from Myungsoo himself, as the pants got tangled around his knees and this leaves Sungjong rather frustrated and desperate before Myungsoo came to the rescue – and his own. He hesitates for a brief second, before pulling off Myungsoo’s underwear in one motion (smirking at a wet spot on the fabric), and then repeats the action on himself, throwing them in a heap and leaving them both bare. Myungsoo’s cock lies heavy against his stomach, even harder now against the cool air. Sungjong is beautiful, so beautiful, and Myungsoo has trouble believing he’s lucky enough to belong to a now in which Sungjong exists. Of all the places and times, of nows and wheres, the world was most certainly against them. But here they are. And Myungsoo glances up at Sungjong like he’s trying to take in everything in at once and it’s too much for anyone. He’s pale skin and the ghost of lean abs, hard pink nipples and curved lines and warmth. A section of black hair falls into his eyes as he leans over Myungsoo to kiss him again. He likes kisses, Myungsoo realizes.

Their kiss is heated; hot, heavy breaths and Myungsoo feels like every part of him is aware. With a quick motion, he grips Sungjong’s waist and rolls them over on the grass, and Sungjong gives a sharp intake of breath in surprise, but also at the sensation of their cocks against one another’s. Myungsoo proceeds to trail kisses – achingly slowly – down Sungjong’s body; from his neck, down his thin chest and his soft belly that heaves with his every deep breath he takes. Myungsoo feels hands run through and then grip his hair as he gets closer and closer to Sungjong’s cock, which is pink and swollen and ready. It twitches as he lands a kiss close to it.

Myungsoo glances up for a moment before sucking Sungjong’s cock all the way down in one motion, something he knows he’s notoriously good at. In retaliation, Sungjong moans and arches his back, spreading his legs a little bit wider.

“Shit,” he groans, and Myungsoo grins around his dick – as well as he can manage - then begins to bob his head. Sungjong squirms every once in a while, and Myungsoo has to hold his hips down and press the other into the grass. Sungjong doesn’t taste like much, mostly just clean skin, of which he’s thankful for. When he sucks particularly hard, however, he’s rewarded with a burst of precome that he swallows dutifully, and while that tastes a little strange, it’s something he’s looking forward to getting used to.

Sungjong reaches up and tangles his fingers in the grass by his head. He doesn’t moan often, but rather gasps and releases small, breathy noises into the night that make Myungsoo even more aroused. He wants to hear that for the rest of his life. He sucks harder, and Sungjong tries to buck his hips up again, get further down Myungsoo’s throat, but Myungsoo doesn’t let him, even though he could definitely handle that. Instead, he almost leaves bruises with the force of his grip on slim hips, and the only reaction that seems to elicit is to make Sungjong even harder in his mouth, which he had not thought a possibility. 

Sungjong makes a noise again, and Myungsoo looks up again to see Sungjong glaring down at him, but panting as he did it. Myungsoo releases his dick with a wet sound, and it falls back on the silk of Sungjong’s tummy. Sungjong groans.

“Yes?” Myungsoo inquires.

“Fuck me already,” Sungjong seethes and it makes Myungsoo smile. He nips at Sungjong’s thighs, harder when Sungjong’s legs tremble a bit. Oh yes, he certainly likes Myungsoo being rough with him.

Myungsoo trails fingers down to Sungjong’s hole, only to sharply glance up at Sungjong again when his fingers come back wet, and his ass is loose enough that his fingers simply slip inside, but still incredibly tight around him.

“Magic, idiot,” the Unseelie faerie sighs, exasperated and impatient, and it’s accompanied by a little shake of his fingers. Myungsoo’s never tried that one out before, but magic had never been his forte, and none of his previous partners seemed aware of this trick either. That definitely comes in handy, but Myungsoo chooses to torture him a bit regardless – he likes to see Sungjong squirming underneath his touch and panting heavily on the grass. So he elects to finger him anyway, two fingers pressing up inside him and curving, making Sungjong arch up from the grass with the stimulation. He increases the pressure on his prostate and Sungjong keens, rocking his hips back on Myungsoo’s fingers. He does this for a bit, content to forego his own pleasure to witness this. And Sungjong is a sight to behold; dick swollen and straining against his belly and a thin sheen of sweat covering his flushed skin. His eyes are dark beneath long lashes, and he’s bitten his lip raw to keep from releasing harsh gasps. 

Myungsoo is then caught off-guard when Sungjong pushes his hand away harshly and wraps his legs around Myungsoo’s waist, using his entire body weight to roll them around again, putting Sungjong once again on top.

Myungsoo cries out when Sungjong sits on his dick in one go.

Neither of them move for a moment; both content to adjust. Sungjong is so hot and tight, let’s out a small sound as he sinks all the way down, and Myungsoo thinks he might just lose it from the sensation. The boy above him encompasses the entirety of his world. Time is relative and Sungjong is an eternity. He waxes lyrical about this for a bit. It’s in his nature. And as Sungjong begins to move, grinding his hips and lifting off from Myungsoo’s thighs, he feels lost in somewhere in the stratosphere, and Sungjong is the only thing connecting him back to Earth. Sungjong grips his cock like he wants to keep him inside himself for as long as possible, unwilling to let go as he clings to his dick. Myungsoo really should have guessed though, that by the way Sungjong danced, he would be extremely good at this. He starts to grind his hips down on Myungsoo’s cock, which elicits a moan, before adjusting his position minutely and, slowly at first, begins to move up and down. He speeds up into a rhythm that seems comfortable for him, and Myungsoo is content to lie and watch. 

Sungjong leans down for a kiss, and Myungsoo bucks up his hips up hard when Sungjong slows his movements. Every push makes Sungjong whine against his mouth, and he goes pliant as it gets rougher. Myungsoo holds onto Sungjong’s hips in order to get more leverage, changing the angle marginally. In turn, Sungjong breaks away a moans loudly and swears, managing to put together some profanities that Myungsoo is quite impressed with, even in his debauched state. Myungsoo continues at that angle, punching out whimpers and sobs and occasional cursing. Sungjong’s nails dig into his arm – they’re long, but have blunt, rounded edges - and he finds he doesn’t mind it that much. 

He fucks him brusquely, and it has Sungjong sporadically clenching like he’s going to come, and the sensations travel through Myungsoo’s lower half.

Sungjong reaches down to touch his own dick, but Myungsoo pushes his hand away, much to Sungjong’s dissatisfaction. He makes another attempt, but once again it is foiled by Myungsoo taking his hand and lacing their fingers together to hold him back and keep him close. Myungsoo doesn’t want him to come just yet. He tells him so, and he gets a glare in return. Myungsoo is having difficulty keeping up this position – honestly his legs and back are starting to ache - so he slows down and stops to pull out. Sungjong lets out a noise of frustration, displeased by this, but Myungsoo ignores him and flips Sungjong on his back again, making it easier for him to thrust. Sungjong’s legs are splayed in a greatly disorganized fashion, however Myungsoo presses his thighs down in a semblance of order. Sungjong isn’t especially flexible, but it’s enough. He resumes thrusting, and the rougher he goes, the more Sungjong spurs him on.

Myungsoo buries his face into Sungjong’s neck, breathing in his warmth with the grass tickling his face. Sungjong exhales softly, exhaustedly, as the angle changes again, and Myungsoo is hitting his prostate almost every time. Myungsoo can feel himself getting close, but is determined to get Sungjong off first. So he deepens his thrusts – much to Sungjong’s enjoyment if his whimper is any indication - and pounds him into the grass. Myungsoo feels pinpricks on his back and realizes that Sungjong is scratching him, though not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough for him to focus on keeping his impending orgasm at bay. 

Sweat drips down the side of his face and he feels Sungjong tighten around his dick. Sungjong bites his lips as he comes, but a sort of sigh still escapes him. Myungsoo feels the wetness between their bodies, and the sporadic clenching of Sungjong’s hole. He thrusts only a few more times before coming hard inside him with a groan even deeper than his usual voice, which apparently Sungjong likes, because his dick twitches a bit between their bodies despite him just coming a moment ago. He crumples against Sungjong, still inside him, and presses a kiss on his lips before returning his face to the side of Sungjong’s neck, seeking comfort. He’s a cuddler, he knows that, but he’s glad Sungjong indulges him in moments like these. He curls his arms around Sungjong’s petite frame and tries to keep as much weight off the other to avoid crushing him.

Myungsoo exhales deeply and Sungjong hums in agreement, entwining their fingers.

______________________

_It’s night and, no, Sungjong is not scared. Not at all. Not one bit._

_“Don’t go far,” they had said. And it hadn’t. But there was a firefly, and it landed on his nose, and he had chased the little light in winding, maze-like patterns through the woods, never thinking about how he would get back._

_It wasn’t the dark he was afraid of. Or the crawling things with more legs than they need that come out after sunset._

_But maybe he was a little bit frightened of being alone._

_Because his magic wasn’t good yet. And he’d had to try twice as hard to be as proficient as the worst, always ruthlessly teased about it. Long hours practicing became lengthier, but nothing seemed to become of it. Weakness, he knew, even this young, was his biggest fault. Even though he pretended he didn’t comprehend or care about what others said about him, it affected him greatly._

_So his small puffs of light were quickly extinguished in the dark of the night, and his attempts at reading the stars had left him more confused than ever._

_He was diminutively alone; his only company the tittering of crickets and the presence of the distant stars. There was a little ache in his chest – irrational and stupid – that manifested itself at the thought that perhaps no one would come for him, grateful that he was gone. It felt kind of like falling, at a great uncontrollable velocity; a lurching feeling that made his throat close up a bit and his eyes heat up with what would be the prologue to tears. He was loud when he was supposed to be quiet, and silent when he was supposed to speak up. It was no secret he was not liked, to put it courteously, but it didn’t mean he preferred the echoing emptiness of solitude more. He didn’t care what they thought, but he did, oh he did._

_When he didn’t know what to do any more, he wandered. Ultimately, it got him more lost, but he wasn’t one to sit still and await rescue for an indeterminate amount of time. So he walks, and his bare feet flattens the grass for a few seconds, but otherwise it was like he had ceased to exist._

_“What have we here?” And a voice as soft as thistle down drifts up from behind him._

_Sungjong turns. Although surprised at the voice, he doesn’t startle; he was never one to do that. There stands a woman garbed in the dark fabric of the night sky, and long blonde hair like the brilliance of the moon and the stars._

_“A lost little boy?” she asks, but doesn’t desire an answer. Sungjong says nothing anyway. He’s intimidated by her, but not scared. She steps closer, right in front of him, and he can see how radiantly beautiful she is. He has to tilt his head back quite high to see her, as he’s still so small._

_“Where’s your family?” she coos, and runs a finger down the side of his cheek. He doesn’t look away. “Did they abandon you?”_

_“No,” he replies, with more confidence then he feels, because he takes a step back away from her._

_“Ah, I see.” She has no emotion when she says it. Like if she moves her face, the ice will crack. “Where are they, pray tell?”_

_“On their way to find me.”_

_“Really?” The woman turns her head slightly, and even that action is stunning. She crouches, in a smooth movement, like a leaf falling to the ground in autumn, to look him directly in the eyes; her black ones with his brown ones. “I’ve been all over this forest, my dear.” She pauses. “And there’s no one searching for you.”_

_Sungjong flinches at that. His heart feels heavy, and there’s a twinge in his stomach, like when someone releases a bowstring. He blinks away the telltale sting of tears –_ don’t cry, _he thinks – and looks right up at the woman._

_“Truly?” he asks, unsteadily._

_“Yes, my dear. But you already knew it, did you not?”_

_He did. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, though. But the more he walked on the more he accepted that no one was coming. And the prospect of being alone forever terrified him._

_He wasn’t wanted. Never was._

_He stands in the forest in front of a beautiful lady, and the only sound is the leaves shifting in the wind, because it seems life - even the crickets – have halted in anticipation._

_Sungjong looks up at the woman._

_“Take my hand,” says the Unseelie Queen. “I’ll bring you someplace better.”_

_He does._

______________________

“War,” the Unseelie Queen laughs, amid the clanking of steel and the heat of flames.

Sungjong looks out on the vast expanse of the room. That is, if it could even be called a mere room; its sheer size suggested indefinite breadth and it made him feel uncomfortably small and insignificant. He had been summoned, upon his return, to the queen’s side, deep in the underground to places he never knew existed. While he did not doubt the queen had secrets and tricks she would never reveal, this had caught him off-guard. For he had never partaken in a war, and knew little.

Before him were countless faeries, roasting in the sweltering temperature of the fires by which they forged weaponry. Rhythmic bell-like tones of hammers upon metal echoed. The swords were not pure iron, deadly to fae, which meant the metal was unworkable; they would burn while making any attempt at fashioning blades. Therefore, steel was used. Enough iron to be deadly, yet, usually, not enough to be poisonous upon creation. If one was careful. The iron ore used to makes the steel was not mined by faeries, but stolen from those who could touch it. The Unseelie Queen’s throne, obviously, is not of faerie make.

Magic was also a commonly used weapon. Not every faerie was capable, however, which made the use of swords and daggers and the like crucial. It was said that long ago faerie bloodlines were pure enough that magic was only used, but over time power seemed to wane and disperse, much to the panic of fae society. 

The Unseelie court had soldiers, trained faeries that were preparing for this war. And there would be a war, Sungjong was sure. The Unseelie Queen longed for it like a starving lion yearned for prey. 

Sungjong stands beside the queen overlooking the proceedings, knowing what she is showing him is something the dancing faeries in the hall would dream of seeing. And yet he longs for, completely, the ignorance of the fae out there, and the gloriousness of triviality. 

“Magnificent, is it not?” The Unseelie Queen asks.

“Yes,” Sungjong lies. It’s horrifying, the lengths she has gone. He has no reservations that the Seelie Queen is unprepared and unsuspecting of his own queen’s madness. The only problem was that the queens were always mad. And if she were to be replaced, there was no guessing how wrathful the next one would be. 

The Unseelie Queen assesses the work being done. “I do not intend to lose,” she states softly. “You must understand.”

Sungjong is silent, and the Unseelie Queen chuckles as if his reluctance, thinly-veiled perhaps, is funny.

“We have all suffered under the Seelie Queen,” she utters. “The winters are shorter because of her power. We are weak. We tremble underneath the hill when summer arrives and she is strong. She distorts morality in the name of justice, like all Seelie fae do. Her mercy and idealism do nothing to our kind but instill rebellion.”

She gazes upon the vastness of her industry. 

“I salvaged you when you were a child from the fate of being just like them. Do you remember how frail and pathetic you were? I saved you, Sungjong, from a life of desolation.”

The light from the fires imprint shadows on her face, orange and harsh, giving her a wild stare. That of an insane animal that its family abandons. He is not scared, however, because even though he now has something to lose, hurting him at this point in time would be of no advantage to her. Besides, she brought him here for a reason, and he assumes she will get to that shortly. 

“How grand of an army would it take to subdue the Seelie Queen?” And she looks at him for answer this time.

“I don’t know, your Majesty.”

There’s simply the crackling of the fire and the hiss of steam when she replies. “All we have got.”

Sungjong inhales sharply. He can almost hear the sound of his heart beating rapidly behind the twisted cage of his ribs. “Your Majesty--“ he begins.

She cuts him off with a stare that could pierce diamonds. “I am not sure what you have been doing of late, my dear.” Sungjong grows cold as he hears the name she once called him. His heart speeds up more and he freezes in fear, unsure of what she will say next. “But no matter what,” she annunciates with snake-like precision, “you will fight in this war.” 

And Sungjong realizes how wrong he had been.

______________________

“Myungsoo,” Ophelia calls, and he turns to face her.

Under the command of the Seelie Queen he had been directed to oversee fortifications of not only defense, but weaponry, which sounded more important than it was. In reality, it was a lot of standing around and telling others where to place things (and he took frequent naps to cope) for endless days. But it seemed to Myungsoo that it had finally dawned on his queen that conflict with the Unseelie Queen was inevitable, and preparations were necessary.

When Myungsoo looks at Ophelia, it is apparent that something is quite wrong. She was obviously distressed. Ophelia had the unique gift of foresight, although it was not to be confused with divination or telepathy. What she saw in the future always came true, yet she was only able to interpret the outcome of endeavours from the frenzied symbols she was given, of which were challenging to unravel the meaning of. And when she did see into the future – a rarity - she lost herself slightly, giving her an untamed appearance.

“What will happen?” he asks. He does not touch her. It took them years to get comfortable with each other and even then they’re not fond of touching. 

“The Seelie Queen,” she pronounces between short breaths, like she’d been running. “She’s looking for you. I am unsure of what she wants but…” she trails off. “Myungsoo, bad things approach. Be wary.”

Ophelia presses a dagger into his hand. The handle is silver, and it’s contained in a black sheath, but he can feel that that blade itself is iron. Pure iron had a way of calling out; of making itself known, and he knew what he had here was remarkably dangerous. He looks at her, and fastens it to his belt as quickly as he can manage with fumbling fingers.

“Do not ask questions, just do it,” she snaps, at his enquiring gaze. 

Myungsoo begins to reply, but is interrupted by the Seelie Queen’s voice.

“Myungsoo.” She’s walking towards them, gold dress reflecting noticeably in the sun’s rays and long red hair moving faintly in the slight breeze. She does not seem to detect the new weaponry decorating his side. “You are to come with me.”

“Where, Milady?” he questions bluntly.

The Seelie Queen glances at Ophelia and then back at Myungsoo, and it is obvious what she means. “It is not to be discussed so freely. Come, now.”

Myungsoo reluctantly follows her. They make quite the contrast, with her gown of liquid sunshine and his armour of molten silver. The Seelie Queen expresses radiance, and smells like ripe apples and faintly of lemongrass. She leads him away from the Seelie court clearing and into the woods. Myungsoo recognizes they’re leaving, but he’s unsure of where it is they’re meant to be going. Myungsoo was born to question – to ask why in every instance where he’s required to do anything – but he wisely shuts up. Which is uncharacteristic of him, but he’ll be quiet when he recognizes he has to be. Soon they no longer hear the faint voices chattering away, or the beat of music, or have the light of the lanterns strung from the canopies press up against their backs. Myungsoo, unfortunately, was never especially adept in directions, so he was entirely dependent on his queen for guidance. 

They’re far away from the Seelie court before she speaks. “I hide my desperation well, it seems. For even you have not picked up on it.”

“If you wished to hide something, Milady, I am sure no one could.”

They continue on, Myungsoo patiently waiting on the queen. It is not the nature of his queen to dive headfirst into any sort of situation, instead taking painstaking deliberation, delaying the inevitable. So was the nature of Seelie fae, and even more prominent in their leader. While he waits, he observes. The leaves upon the trees are green and bursting with life, however there’s a chill in the air that signifies the end. A scent of oncoming death that carries amid changing of seasons. Autumn is near, and with the falling of the leaves comes the waning of the Seelie power and the growth of the Unseelie courts’. They are, quite obviously, in a precarious position. 

But Myungsoo has always been a bit of a dreamer. He’s innately worrisome, and his method of escape pertains to him drifting away into other courses of thought. So he thinks of Sungjong’s soft hair underneath his fingers and how he squeaks when he laughs if he finds something especially funny. How he fits comfortably in Myungsoo’s arms, letting out an exasperated sigh when Myungsoo holds him for a long time, but he’s not really annoyed and maybe likes the idea of never being let go. Or when he and Sungjong just fucked, and he lies sleepy and compliant, and his breath puffs warmly on Myungsoo’s chest-- 

Suddenly, the Queen halts. She murmurs something incomprehensible underneath her breath and waves her left hand in the air slowly. The trees begin to shift in front of them, bark becoming darker and trees becoming taller and denser. Myungsoo doesn’t take a step back, but he wants to. There’s a low sound of the earth moving; the roots shifting and the leaves rustling with the movement. The blaring sun gets blocked by the thickening canopy, and everything darkens soothingly. Even the grass changes to a species more foreign. Myungsoo recognizes the scenery. He pauses.

“A short cut,” the Seelie Queen announces. “To the Unseelie court.”

“I do not understand,” Myungsoo says. He had been ripped out of his head and needed answers, explanations.

“I intend to offer the Unseelie Queen a last appeal to peace.” She starts to walk forward again, the train of her dress flowing behind her, turning around to look back at Myungsoo, who was expected to follow, but has halted momentarily. “And it is paramount that you, my most trusted, be there.”

______________________

Myungsoo, as customary, leads the Seelie Queen through enemy territory. They arrive to silence; eerie absence as the eyes of every Unseelie faerie turn towards them. And they are a sight: the white knight of the Seelie court and the queen herself, immaculate against the grunge of the Unseelie fae.

There is no music, no chatter, and no movement, except for when the mass parts for the two distinctive figures. A path is cleared for them as they make their way to the Unseelie Queen’s throne, where she is speaking in a low tone to a guard by her side. She sits upon velvet and iron, and looks as though she has the means of total destruction at her fingertips.

Myungsoo approaches, and introduces the Seelie Queen, before stepping off to the side. He subtly scans the area for Sungjong, before he realizes he’s been in sight the whole time.

Sungjong stands alongside the Unseelie Queen, unrecognizable at first glance. Gone are his tattoos, the glamour removed and instead baring smooth, pale skin. His hair is fair, a bright brown that shines gold under the indulgent lamplight. It makes him look younger, softens out harsh angles of his face. His fringe flops into his eyes, which Myungsoo almost thinks look darker. 

The Sungjong that overlooks the Unseelie court is both completely different and exactly the same. He looks as if he was stripped of any sort of protection, more than a bit vulnerable, yet still carries the same unwavering bravery that so many seem to glance over. There is a roughness to Sungjong that Myungsoo is only fully realizing now.

Sungjong’s eyes meet Myungsoo’s, and from and outsider’s perspective, nothing happens. But when their eyes convene, Sungjong stiffens, and shifts slightly. A break in formation, a stumble in a well-choreographed dance. It’s enough for Myungsoo to know that his presence is noted and he’s affected by it. There is no change in his features, he’s been educated enough in that regard, perhaps by other circumstances, and knows the benefits of revealing nothing. However Myungsoo feels the weight, the comforting heaviness of Sungjong’s eyes, and it says more than any words ever could. I’m here, they say, I know.

Their entire interaction takes up no more than a few seconds. The Seelie Queen steps up to the Unseelie Queen’s throne. Not a single faerie in the vicinity dares to shift. The tension between them crackles like lightning amongst storm clouds of the deepest black.

“I never thought I would see the day where the Seelie Queen arrives on my doorstep,” the Unseelie Queen says after a moment of pause.

“Then I am pleased to grace you with such an opportunity,” comes the Seelie Queen’s reply. The hostility increases another few notches. Myungsoo watches their interaction with one eye on Sungjong, but the boy does not move.

The Unseelie Queen’s reaction to this is naught. “Have you perhaps come to plead for mercy?”

“I have come to offer a final gift in hopes we can forget this conflict. Neither of us have the resources for war. This can be sorted without unnecessary death.”

“Always reasonable,” the Unseelie Queen scoffs. “Always willing to negotiate when the promise of defeat is clear. Seelie fae are indistinguishable in that regard.” But she tilts her head, and seems to mull over the assurance of a gift for the return of peace. “What is it that you have to offer?” she says at last, and the guard by her side seems to disagree with her choice, judging by the look on his face. 

The Seelie Queen contemplates her next words with great affliction. Myungsoo breaks his gaze from Sungjong to see his queen step forward slightly and announce boldly, “I offer the servitude my right-hand man, the white knight of the Seelie court, in exchange for parity.”

Myungsoo’s eyes snap back to Sungjong, whose face displays shock and fear so evidently for a moment in time before shutting down once again into a cold mask of porcelain. As soon as this registers, Myungsoo feels nauseated, the words of his queen sinking in, and feels chilled to the bone, like the blood in his veins and his yielding insides have been packed in ice. The rest of the faeries in the room seem surprised by this as well, and titter amongst themselves. But while Sungjong is a façade of steely calm, his own distress shows, because even though he was trained to reign in his emotions, he’s still unable to shelter the ones that shock him the most. 

The Unseelie Queen notices this. 

“So eager to sacrifice your best piece,” she laughs, and it’s a beautiful sound. The court laughs with her, but that resonates like steel being sharpened on stone. “Even unbeknownst to him. Your desperation is apparent.”

“That is my offer,” the Seelie Queen replies, unaffected by the Unseelie Queen’s antics. Myungsoo stares at his queen’s back with enough intensity that could have vanquished her had he been magically-inclined. He had been betrayed, and was unable to do a thing.

He remembers, in that moment, the iron dagger on his hip, and wonders if this is its purpose. Should he draw it, and take the risk of slitting her throat from behind, and watching as her blood sprays upwards in a garish splatter and rains down upon the startled face of the Unseelie Queen and her subjects? Take control of the situation and step over her body, convulsing as she chokes and suffocates, and leave. He is considering it, although not seriously, because while he was trained to kill, he is still under the servitude of his queen, and he would not break his fealty. Myungsoo is loyal, and his attachment to the Seelie Queen despite her recent actions rest heavily upon him.

“And my answer is no.”

______________________

Sungjong had felt nothing but dread, heavy like ash in his lungs, when Myungsoo had introduced the Seelie Queen before his own queen and court. It was wrong for him to be here, and he was sure no good would come of their visit.

This was confirmed when the Seelie Queen then presented Myungsoo as nothing more than cattle, to be sold and passed around, sliced into and divided into sizable portions to which the Unseelie Queen could dine upon if she wished, and easily pass back if she did not. And Sungjong could do nothing to save him, as he was bound to power constructs and unwritten laws just as much as he was. Instead he is forced to look upon the proceedings as if the outcomes were meaningless to him. Rule under either queen, as evident by the events unfolding, is punishing.

“No?” the Seelie Queen confirms. Sungjong understands the value of what the Seelie Queen is giving up; almost like having her queen captured in a game of chess. The advantages would be great. The Unseelie Queen declines because she is overconfident. She thinks she can win even without this. And Sungjong knows she can. Accepting Myungsoo’s servitude would be admitting defeat, and she and her court hunger too greatly for blood.

“No,” answers the Unseelie Queen. “Although he is no doubt valuable, gifts do not tempt me.” She says this with the air of finality, but Sungjong cannot even exhale in relief, because this is far from over. No matter the Unseelie Queen’s answer, it would be testing for the both of them.

“How unfortunate.”

Sungjong sees Myungsoo shift in place, wonders what he’s thinking, but he’s sure he’s a tumultuous sea of anger. He stands there in humiliation, not only because he was a present of great value, but also because he was resolutely rejected. Sungjong sees him crack, glimpses small fissures in his armour.

Sungjong watches Myungsoo announce their departure, sees him stare right through him in the second before he turns and leads the Seelie Queen out. It makes his heart hurt. The Seelie Queen walks away with grace, like she had not faced refutation. Myungsoo as well, keeps his head high. He knows this amuses the Unseelie Queen.

The Unseelie Court is focused on their queen, congregated in a large mass below her throne. Sungjong stands unmoving, as the weight of the proceedings settles. The queen leans back in her throne with a smirk on her face, red lips turned up in a gruesome slice. She gestures for wine, and a cup is placed in her delicate hands almost instantaneously. It’s quiet when she stands; hushed whispers resound but they are silenced in the moment before she speaks.

“To war!” she says gleefully, and raises the chalice to her subjects.

“To war!” they echo with enthusiasm, accompanied by unintelligible hoots and yells, and Sungjong shouts it too, loudly over the crowd, before those who hold beverages down them in a single gulp. The Unseelie Queen is pleased, and it shows on her face.

He closes his eyes to what’s about to come.

______________________

“He is beautiful,” the Seelie Queen muses.

Myungsoo stops where they are: walking back to Seelie territory, amongst the sunlight filtering through the tops of the trees and birds carolling from their places within them, heart beating rapidly. He feels caged in, and is trying desperately to hide by pressing himself against the bars but it is ineffectual. She must know, then, if her words are anything to go by. He feigns ignorance, choosing continue striding in even steps after a momentary pause, but he fears her capabilities; what would she do if she knew?

“You were staring at the Unseelie boy,” she continues on, and she _knows_ , Myungsoo thinks, frightened, “and you made it apparent. You were never especially talented at subtlety and I know you well.”

She speaks casually, in an unhurried, untroubled tone, as if Myungsoo isn’t petrified and close to tears. He decides to not be passive, however, and chooses to run straight off the cliff without acknowledging the jagged rocks below.

“And what of it, your Majesty?” he asks, in a polite manner, in the most courteous of ways, but his words are biting, and rip their bond apart, much like she had done in front of the Unseelie elite. Gone is the familiar “Milady” of those in close rank, replaced by “your Majesty” and the coldness of strangers. He observes as she turns to face him, evidently picking up on the aggression and the forceful distancing of himself from her company.

“It is unlikely that one – or even perhaps both – of you shall survive the battle ahead.” She is blunt, playing his game, and Myungsoo tenses at this. He is aware that they will both be fighting (Sungjong ran to him, uncharacteristically seeking out comfort so boldly and indulgently, soon after he was told), but he does not want to hear of this conceivable future. “But you love him, and if it is written in the stars to be, then it shall.”

Myungsoo knows he’s idealistic. But he does not want to comprehend the possibility of their fate, or even destiny. Yes, they’re written in the stars, their outcome spread out amongst constellations, he knows this, but Myungsoo is too busy gazing at Sungjong to read them. It appears, as improbable as he would’ve envisioned it to be, that he’s received a blessing of sorts. One that he is in no way inclined to accept, but knows he shall have to regardless. Myungsoo discerns that, if it had been the Unseelie Queen who had noticed him, he and Sungjong would be dead, preceded by arduous torture for no other purpose than to feed the queen’s sadistic tendencies and put on a show for the entirety of the court. The Seelie Queen recognises their exploits as incorrect and immoral, but withholds justice because love – in her mind and in general Seelie ideology – is principal.

So Myungsoo says, “Of course, your Majesty,” and adds no more to the conversation.

______________________

The last time they meet, it’s rushed and desperate. Sungjong doesn’t even protest Myungsoo’s clinginess, choosing instead to hold him just as hard in return, and buries his face into his broad shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist. Sungjong doesn’t like showing his neediness, thinks it’s weakness, but the looming promise of death provides a good enough circumstance for him to demonstrate it.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and it’s the first time he’s said it back. It feels like finality; the promise of no more times and it tastes like the ashy suffocation of misery. 

Myungsoo had said it first, and countless times subsequently, and the weight of the words rested heavily on Sungjong. Because he still did not know why Myungsoo chose to love him of all people. He was, in all aspects, nothing particularly exceptional. There were so many that were wiser, more powerful, more beautiful – in fact Sungjong did not think he was attractive in the slightest, and scoffs when Myungsoo whispers softly in the dead of night that he is. So why him? He’s likely not to believe it even if he’s told the reason.

Nonetheless, Sungjong does not lie, even though his voice trembles – and he hates it - when he quietly says those words. It is a frightening moment of realization, and then an ignorant plunge as it tumbles out shortly after he acknowledges this as fact. There is no definitive reason he can point out for falling in love with the knight of the Seelie court. Perhaps it was his inherent protectiveness, his charismatic wit, or his thickly veiled awkwardness (that is only apparent off-duty, but reveals itself to be quite a significant part of Myungsoo). Perhaps it was all those things. Perhaps it was something else. Truthfully, it is the act of falling in love that petrifies Sungjong, as it means the loss of control. Fragments of himself no longer belong to him, and he can only hope now that the other will handle him with care.

Myungsoo says it back, into the top of his hair whilst threading fingers through it in a comforting manner. And they stay like that for a while, leeching consolation from one another. Sungjong almost drifts off, sitting there on the ledge above the bright city lights with the scent of Myungsoo in his nose. But instead Myungsoo speaks.

“My friend she…” his voice drifts away into the cool night air as he stumbles over his thoughts. “She sees omens, the likes of which always come true.”

Sungjong does not know the direction of this conversation, but sometimes it takes a while for Myungsoo to say what he wishes, and Sungjong is content to wait. He decides along the way that he likes the rumble in Myungsoo’s chest when he speaks, and he presses ever so slightly into him.

“She saw death, Sungjong.”

Sungjong is afraid of what he would say – or could not say – if he spoke. So he tightens his grip in Myungsoo’s shirt almost imperceptibly more, closes his eyes and chooses to look at the stars behind his eyelids instead, the afterimage of the cityscape below. Myungsoo has faced the reality of mortality with his head high, stared at it like he’s looking at the sun. Sungjong knows loss and misery (and has been caught up in it far too long), has seen humans and faeries torn apart and used as playthings, but knows not of the experience of battle. He is not afraid of death, nor whatever comes after, but rather of what he leaves behind. 

“It will be fine,” he replies, with certainty he does not feel. 

Myungsoo draws back from the other. “There is something else,” he states, and unlaces the dagger from the belt around his waist, which Sungjong noticed he had not parted from ever since its enigmatic arrival. “This was given to me, but I’m not sure what to do with it.” He pauses. “I wish for you to have it.” 

Myungsoo watches Sungjong’s reaction intently. Sungjong does not know what to say. It’s a garish thing, a tool of definite destruction, and when placed in his hands he feels the hum of barely constrained iron, making him uneasy even though it was powerless unless it reached his skin. Sungjong realizes Myungsoo’s intentions behind the gift. Despite his naïveté with this method of warfare, Myungsoo wants him safe, and this is an attempt at protection. Thus, Sungjong takes it without protest, unsheathes it and gazes at the dullness of the metal, grey and unassuming but massively damaging, before unsteadily putting it back, unsure of his hold on the weapon. 

Sungjong drops it to the ground, somewhere in the long grasses, when Myungsoo reaches for his hands and touches their foreheads together. Sungjong looks straight into his eyes but does not match Myungsoo’s intensity, which, after a moment of quiet staring, becomes ridiculous. 

Sungjong laughs. “You look stupid.” What he truly means is _I can’t handle you looking at me like that._

In return, Myungsoo’s face crinkles up in the way it does when he is remarkably happy; shadows of the lights below bounce off his face and light up his eyes. It’s a little peculiar to Sungjong that their stars come from underneath and not overhead, but when it comes to the two of them, it has never been apparent why the things fit in the eccentric the way they do.

And for a while they forget.

______________________

Sungjong stands, clad in lithe leather armor to afford some semblance of defence, in rows upon rows of faeries, ready for battle. There’s cold sweat on his neck and back. He holds himself rigid. He feels neither restless nor calm, but rather resigned to the icy dread building up and churning inside him.

They had marched for over a day to the Seelie court, armed with all sorts of vicious armaments, steel hooks, swords and spiked and twisted instruments Sungjong could not name, with the knowledge that they would be met by a similar army upon their arrival. Sungjong had nothing but the ghost of Myungsoo’s lips on his own, the dagger on his side (of which he was certain he would not use), and the determination to get out of this alive. He did not fear what would meet him when the battle began, although he was sure that his experience with Unseelie fae had desensitized him to the gore and violence he would soon encounter. He knew Myungsoo was waiting by his queen’s side, at the front of the congregation of their court’s finest soldiers, wearing armor that sharply reflected the sun into your eyes. His own court had used every faerie they could spare; the queen electing to rely on sheer numbers rather than skill. 

And their numbers were vast, stretching into the landscape in dark armor and looking like a hoard of locusts polluting the ground instead of in the sky. Except, of course, in a likeness of order. The Unseelie Queen led them, darkening their surroundings in her wake, looking like the harbinger of death in dark pants and armed with a long, gleaming sword that could sever someone in two effortlessly. Sungjong had originally stood at her side – she had pulled him to her with his wrist in a painful grip – but he had managed to migrate to a few rows back by sheer luck. 

From his place within the mass he can see the soft yellow lights within the trees in the distance that signal Seelie court territory ahead. And Sungjong wonders if Myungsoo is standing at the gates with his own sword drawn, waiting for the oncoming storm at the front of the line with the Seelie Queen, or, more frighteningly, if he is unaware of the Unseelie presence and awaits nothing. 

More than anything, Sungjong refuses to be scared. So he stands with a dagger at his hip and magic tingling at his fingertips and looks at war with his chin held high. 

With a cry from their queen the Unseelie court is led onwards, through the silence of the forest and navigating the maze of branches and protruding roots. Among the swishing noise of faeries striding and the dull metallic sound of weaponry bumping against other metals, Sungjong prepares to fight.

______________________

Myungsoo waits in anticipation for the Unseelie court’s arrival. He lingers, suspended in a sick indecision of running away or running towards the enemy in a single self-sacrificing waltz.

His queen holds him by her side, however, with a firm grip on his shoulder every time he looks like he’s come to a verdict. On which he stiffens immediately. Because he is not quite as fond of her as he once was, understandable of course. Her lush perfume of lemongrass and apples, sunshine and summer, no longer give him comfort. It no longer feels like home.

So Myungsoo remains at the peak, the very tip of the forefront of the army. It is a precarious position, one that will make him an easy target and carries a guarantee of death with it. He will be the first to clash with the other side, but there is nowhere else he would rather be. That isn’t to say he would simply lay down and die – he intends to put up a fight – but he can no longer cheat death, and if someone must face their demise in the chaos of battle, he hopes it will be him. Because as dramatic as it sounds, Sungjong is the only attachment he has left, and if he lived and Sungjong died he would be aimless.

Ophelia was fighting as well, but Myungsoo had not seen her at all. He knew he needn’t worry for her, though, as she was resilient and competent. She was independent in so many ways, relying on no one but herself and didn’t need Myungsoo nor anyone else. Instead, he focuses on the steel blade on his hip, of which he is poised to draw at any moment, and the rustle of the leaves in the trees.

Myungsoo and the Seelie army are motionless in the grand clearing. As defenders, they know the ground well and have faeries placed in the surrounding trees as both watchmen and a first line of defense. He wears his armor, as well as his queen on his left, only his of the iridescence of the moon and stars, while hers is blazing like the sun. Their army is dressed organically, with defense woven from the native flora and fauna, fused with small bits of gold metal. He is aware of the simplicity of it all, and it does not compare to the extravagance of the Unseelie courts’. Myungsoo saw a small sprite with wings like flower petals carrying a tortoise shell as a shield. He thought it was inventive. He himself carried no shield, and had nothing but a select protective spells that had been cast upon him courtesy of his queen. He did not say thank you.

He is restless, shifts his weight too often and wears a slight frown on his face, and then seemingly out of nowhere, the Unseelie Queen emerges from the copse of trees in the distance, carrying a wickedly sharp sword and flanked by an army dressed in all black. They make their way towards the Seelie court, gliding with otherworldly grace like smoke. Then the Unseelie Queen stops, and Myungsoo knows that the rows and rows of faeries are not the entirety of the troops she has brought with her, and that there are more hanging back, hidden, stretching far beyond.

He doesn’t see Sungjong, but he can’t search right now. Instead he watches carefully as the Unseelie Queen turns and riles up her army, pacing back and forth in front of them to intermittent yells and clashing of their weapons.

“Draw your weapons!” the Seelie Queen shouts beside him, and he does in near-perfect synchronization with the hundreds of others on his side of the glade. 

The Unseelie Queen turns towards them and, raising her sword in a salute, charges with her army at her back. The Seelie court answers with a battle cry of their own, and under their own queen’s direction, race towards the Unseelie court with the sunrise painting the sky a wonder of pinks and blues and reflecting off the light dew in the grass.

The first collision is an explosion.

______________________

“Too long have we been undermined and beleaguered by the Seelie court’s power!” cries the Unseelie Queen. This is met by the raising of swords and the clanging of shields; the blistering of magic and loud exclamations in return.

Sungjong cheers along with them, raising a fist in the air in agreement. His thin voice is almost lost within the thunderstorm of voices in the mass. The kelpie beside him raises up on its strong hind legs and lets out a whinny before almost shaking the ground below Sungjong when its hooves slam back to earth. 

“Well no longer! No longer shall we cower under the press of oncoming spring that ruthlessly melts our snow; No longer shall we conform to their power under the guise of justice!”

The crowd pulses with energy at the Queen’s words. Sungjong can see Myungsoo, right at the overlook as he had imagined, shining like nothing he had ever seen before. He was righteousness in silver, regality floodlit by the morning sun. 

“No longer shall they slaughter our own and determine it impartiality!”

They’re all rearing to go. Sungjong’s previous feelings of dread are replaced by anticipation. Magic crackles under his skin and he knows the rest of the Unseelie court feel it, too. The kelpie paws at the wet grass, digs underneath the dirt, and the surrounding faeries clutch their weapons or clench their fists in preparation for the first taste of blood – which will either be their own or a faerie from the Seelie court. 

The Unseelie Queen walks back and forth in front of them. There’s lightning coming off her, an energy that brightens her eyes and steadies the steel in her hand. 

“Now,” she yells over the vast throng of her darkly outfitted court. “We take back the supremacy we rightly deserve!”

And with one bellow, she leads her people across the grass, with a bright yellow sun in her eyes. Sungjong takes off, feet digging into the dirt, and magic warming his palms. The kelpie is much faster than he is, and soon enough he sees the horse of unadulterated midnight pass him.

They hit the other army with a bang; screeching noises of metal on metal, screams of the hurt and dying, and sonic booms of magic explode. 

The kelpie is one of the first to reach the Seelie court, breaking out of the neat rows in order to do so. It is also one of the first to die. Trampling over faeries and crushing bones in its wake, it is taken down by a Seelie faerie who chants a spell and makes the kelpie’s head detonate and cover the surroundings with blood like wine and what may have been chunks of brain that now resembled sludge.

Sungjong doesn’t have time to react, or to find Myungsoo. He’s panicking slightly. In the semblance of a moment, the glade was awash with death and destruction. And while he’s so scared and disoriented, he knows that this time, there won’t be someone saving him. There won’t be a woman with hair like starlight to bring him to a new home when he had gone astray. No longer can he be lost. Because even with Myungsoo’s presence and soft smiles directed at him, he still was a little misplaced. So in the second for him to be slammed with the reality of war, he understands that he is the only one who can guarantee his life.

And as a troll charges at him, with a long nose and grass and moss growing on its back, he ducks underneath its heavy punch and presses his hands where its heart should be. In a blaze of light, Sungjong makes the troll’s heart burst behind its ribs. He’s a little shocked at himself, being able to kill so ruthlessly, but the time for delving into that has passed.

He moves on to the next target, which are seemingly infinite. He barely has time to react to a faerie jumping whilst swinging a scythe that would’ve cleanly beheaded him had he not stepped back jerkily. The faerie growls, and Sungjong views endless rows of tiny pointed teeth in their mouth. With a large swooping motion, Sungjong sets the faerie on fire from the inside, and watches in fascinated horror as it drops their weapon and screams, clawing at itself with long fingers with an extra knuckle Sungjong doesn’t have. It writhes for a bit, but Sungjong cannot watch it die – not that he’d want to – because he’s being attacked again from behind.

A burst of magic hits him in the back and he falls, rolling onto the grass in a graceful tumble before gaining his footing in an elegant motion. It was a weak hit, and it only successfully seared a hole through his armor, not the skin underneath, but he cannot take another hit in the same place. He doesn’t get to extract revenge – on a pesky pixie with comically large eyes – because there’s a sword sticking out of the faerie’s abdomen, and she collapses after it’s withdrawn. Sungjong looks into the grinning face of the Unseelie Queen, who gives him a chilling wink before moving on the kill some other feeble member of the Seelie court.

It’s endless.

He’s locked in a fight with a dryad, who enchants some sort of vine to wrap around him, holding him in place. He struggles, and he can see her advancing. They start to constrict, and Sungjong tries to touch, to charm them into something less vicious, but they’ve tied his hands. Working his one wrist out of their hold is a mighty feat, but he manages, and a pinky finger of touch is all he needs to engulf them and himself in flames. He, of course, is resistant to it, but he likes how showy the act is, although he wouldn’t admit it. The dryad is then taken down relatively easily subsequently. They always were weak to the presence of fire. 

The screams are near-constant, and after a while Sungjong gets used to the strange symphony of violence. His movements are almost mechanical, something foreign and cold and human, and he murders without much of a thought. Sweat mats his hair to his forehead and he’s beyond tired; magic is mercilessly draining. 

The sun had made its way across the sky, and was now beginning to set, but there were still so many left in the battle, Sungjong realizes with exhaustion. Faerie wars were chaotic, and could last anywhere from minutes to months. Sungjong himself had fought a gruelling battle with a tall, broad-shouldered faerie who appeared to have a penchant for suffocating his enemies. It was an arduous task, which ended in Sungjong suffocating the faerie himself, and then watching him in a sort of numbness be trampled by another two faeries immersed in their own battle.

Sungjong, although not a warrior by any means, continues fighting. There’s bruises on his arms from a brownie, and what feels like a broken rib from when he was knocked down and kicked by an anonymous figure, supposedly by accident. He has a cut right through his eyebrow that’s deep enough that blood had run into his eye for a period of time, which he had to keep intermittently wiping away, before it dried into a crust.

He doesn’t see the Seelie nymph (he categorizes her shortly after he jolts into awareness) charging at him until she’s about a metre away, long wild hair a tangled mess behind her.

Because she stops.

Sungjong has his hands raised and magic at the ready, but he doesn’t release it. Instead, he freezes as well. The nymph is staring at the dagger at his side – which he had stupidly forgotten he had – and she slowly raises her eyes to his. They’re large and all-knowing, and he doesn’t know what he sees in their depths. 

Sungjong’s bewildered by these events. He knows he’s never met her. Yet she doesn’t attack. He watches her ponder over something, before her eyes refocus on him and Sungjong thinks she looks directly at his soul, before she darts off. 

This leaves Sungjong stunned. It was unsettling. And as he stands in a battlefield of blood he becomes aware, like one’s ears popping after descending from high altitudes, of the desolation surrounding him. War is a grotesque ballet of brutality, and Sungjong wants no part in it. 

He can’t find Myungsoo, hasn’t seen him since the very start, before the first clash and the beginning of pandemonium and careless violence, and it should bother him more but he searches instead for a greater target. 

He navigates through bodies – both alive and dead – and ducks when a knife is thrown at his head. He hears a soft thunk as it embeds itself deeply into the side of an ogre, who must be of some rank as his clothes are quite fancy. The ogre pushes him out of the way and hurls himself at the knife-thrower, Sungjong assumes, because he’s already turned away, and is gasping a bit because his rib flares up like a cosmic explosion of grand proportions because of the slight hit. It causes beacons of pain to light up whenever he takes a breath.

From the faeries fighting, it appears to be that the Unseelie court is winning, their great numbers overshadowing the demanding training of the Seelie fae. To find one would be, by all means, an impossible task. 

Except he’s staring at her.

______________________

Myungsoo catches a flicker of Sungjong during the battle. It does nothing but make him more worried. Through the tangle of fighting faeries Myungsoo sees him knock back a hobgoblin a few metres before the sight of him is gone again.

Sungjong wears a fierce expression like it was put there by only the direst of circumstances. It belongs on his face in a most unexpected way, and Myungsoo supposes that’s another facet of Sungjong he’s yet to wholly uncover. Sungjong’s most outstanding characteristic, undoubtedly, was his bravery. A quick scan, however, was all Myungsoo needed to take in the nasty gash above his left eye from which a river of blood cascaded down his face, mixing with sweat and staining his hair. And he was still the most beautiful person Myungsoo had ever seen.

He himself, by some miracle, had managed to escape serious injury. Somewhere around midday he encountered a pixie and, mischievous by nature as they were, found himself hit with a spell that left him blind. Luckily, Ophelia was beside him, and he heard her swear the most creative of curses before removing the magic with a complicated chant. She had run off after that and he hadn’t heard word from her since. 

War was familiar. It carried the same aura of desperation and smelled like turmoil, perspiration and the sourness of the deceased in the hot sun. So while Myungsoo hated warfare, he was comforted at least because he was accustomed to it. Over the hundreds of years in servitude to the Seelie Queen, Myungsoo had not fought a multitude of battles, but he had fought a few. In occasion, a petty conflict with another court that was blown out of proportion. And once with the Unseelie court, when he was young and inexperienced. 

There was an uprising; a discontentment amongst select Unseelie fae about the way the court was run. Too much violence, they had said, they’ve seen enough. No more. They wanted out. This of course did not sit well with the Unseelie Queen, who had only been crowned shortly before and wished to maintain the orderly chaos. Unseelie was bedlam and cruelty, and there were not going to be any changes. Naturally, the Seelie court got involved, and it led to a war, resulting in a treaty that wouldn’t hold for long (and Myungsoo had seen it crumbling before him and witness the aftermath presently), as well as a declaration of sorts that decreed that faeries were able to leave their court if it was approved by the two courts’ royalty. Myungsoo thought naught of that at the moment of induction, but that was how, years upon years henceforth, he was able to be passed around and offered to the Unseelie Queen as according to law.

With a great swing of his sword Myungsoo slashes through a beautiful faerie’s lower abdomen, and feels the shock of it vibrate up his arm as he hits bone. Their intestines drip out in a tangled mess. The death was relatively quick, he didn’t like drawing it out if it was possible, and the faerie falls to a heap. 

Somehow he ends up fighting alongside his queen, who armed herself with two twisted daggers that slice through fae like a shark on the hunt cut through icy currents. They have their backs to each other and the security makes Myungsoo more confident in his actions. 

“Are we winning?” he asks breathlessly.

“There are no winners,” the Seelie Queen replies backhandedly, but the heaviness of that doesn’t sink in, Myungsoo too preoccupied with a faerie wielding nunchucks. They spin them around in an obnoxious flourish, and Myungso legitimately laughs, before catching one in his hand, twisting, and pulling them away. He knocks the other one from the faerie’s palm and onto the grass, leaving them unarmed and very afraid. He feels the Seelie Queen turn her heard around to watch the proceedings. Abandoning the nunchucks in favour of his sword - not that he was inexperienced in using them – he slashes them apart, leaving his sword bloody. 

He’s wiping it on the grass in a feeble attempt to clean it, when he notices everyone has fallen silent. The battle has stilled, the fighting has ceased, and then Unseelie fae around him fall to their knees with their heads bowed. Myungsoo looks around in confusion, but the Seelie Queen is gone. He turns around uncertainly, searching for the cause of this intermission, and with the sun setting upon the battlefield turning the sky a brilliant tigerlily behind grey clouds, his heart stops.

______________________

Sungjong chances upon the Unseelie Queen hacking a Seelie faerie to pieces. Her blonde hair is tainted with blood and other matter and her clothes are torn in some places. Miraculously, some have managed to strike her. The Unseelie Queen is rather engrossed in her task, and Sungjong winces when an arm is chopped off and wishes he was anywhere else but here when the screams echo afterwards. He abhors this, the careless violence and the blasé reaction to murder. He’s forgotten why they’re fighting to begin with. This thought does nothing but cement in his mind that his following actions will be necessary.

He tries to will his hand to steady, but it trembles as he draws the iron dagger from its sheath. He’s never been more grateful for an unexpected gift. And as he begins to walk towards his queen with his nimble strides, he thinks of Myungsoo’s friend, and how they saw death plainly laid out in the stars, figuring that it would only be divine administration if what he intended was to go as planned.

The Unseelie Queen finally disposes of the poor faerie, and Sungjong feels sick at the unrecognizable mess of carnage left behind. She had never been neat, and had never been merciful, but alas that was the nature of the Unseelie court. Sungjong tries not to vomit and almost doesn’t succeed, but hell if he isn’t going to jeopardize everything because of some gore. So he thinks himself invincible, and hopes it doesn’t translate on his features. He goes for soft instead. Unsuspecting. Frightened. It's not hard to fake.

“Sungjong,” she greets, as he reaches her. She smiles and her eyes are wild. She enjoys this. There are more bodies lying around, but he cannot be positive she’s responsible for all of them. Her downfall, ultimately, is her underestimation. Like most, she thought Sungjong weak, frail. Unable to fight back. He had to be saved from the _woods_ , so how could he ever contest her? The dagger in his hand doesn’t register. It was a war, why would he not be armed?

He doesn’t even greet her back. Just narrows his eyes and focuses as he leans back slightly to gain some power and plunges the iron straight into her heart, with his other hand on the pommel to steady the strike. He was always very good with his aim.

Sungjong hears flesh sizzle as the iron burns through it. The dagger had pierced through her light armor with ease. The Unseelie Queen lets out a sharp gasp as soon as his actions transmit. He stares right into her eyes, pressed up right against her face, and his hand is warm with the new rush of blood that escapes her chest when he twists the weapon sharply. She reaches out and grips his arm tight, as if a feeble attempt for him to stop but he does not. She raises her arm with the sword in hand and struggles to raise it, and is too weak to fight back. 

He holds her gaze as he pulls it out, and this time it is her that falls to the ground. She doesn’t cry out or scream (to his infallible frustration), but she makes choked noises as the iron does its work, and she shivers violently as she slowly dies from its affects. Sungjong supposes her body is trying to heal itself, her heart trying to beat around the gaping hole in it, but the iron prevents this process. She looks up at him with black irises, but there’s no hint of fear there, just void. To the end she carries the ability to make him feel chilled at the slightest of actions. He does nothing to help her along.

He stares down with cold eyes as he watches her go motionless, after a long time of grasping at nothing and making low noises that were probably words, lying on the grass already bloody from numerous other deaths. He has to be sure, though. So he crouches gracefully, grips her hair in one hand, bends her neck back, and endures the arduous struggle of slicing her head off. The blood splatters all over him as he chops rather than slices through tough muscle and tendons and bone. What keeps him at work is the smile that’s etched permanently on her face, and he wants it gone.

When he’s finally done, and her body – certainly dead – is just of a mess as the countless others she brutalized, he looks up to find the battle around him has stopped, and he is the centre of their attention. 

“Behold,” says a voice, “the Unseelie King.”

And Sungjong observes in astonishment as the glade in front of him as every Unseelie faerie bows. They kneel on the grass in silence as customary, easy targets for the Seelie fae, but they as well have paused their fighting. He’s still clutching the dagger in a red hand, but he throws it away harshly when he realizes the gravity of this. He’s now a king, and if he weren’t so utterly spent he might’ve felt more powerful, however he does not. Instead, he looks upon the crowd, all gazing up at him now in reverence. He sees Myungsoo, and he looks weary from the battle and honestly a little out of it. But Sungjong doesn’t have time to question the expression on his face, which is complicated and unreadable at a glance. He finds the Seelie Queen, a flare of light in the mess, as the dusk makes the gold she’s chosen to garb herself in reflect little suns off the metal and onto her surroundings. 

Sungjong glares right at her, and she looks taken aback by that. “This,” he growls, gesturing to the piles of bodies and the wounded left on the battlefield, including the old queen’s head that rested in the grass. “Ends right now.”

______________________

When the nymph saw death, he was sure she hadn’t recognized it to be this: the death of a queen who ruled for centuries. Sungjong has a responsibility now for an entire court. He’s never longed for a position of leadership. Unfortunately, he has no choice given the implausible circumstances. Luckily, the Unseelie court is remarkably autonomous and unconstrained, provided they have all the liquor, music and violence that they should desire.

He gathers the survivors and they’re a surprisingly significant number, but they’ve been cut back by thousands he reckons. Categorizing the injured and the severely incapacitated, he separates the ones that need immediate aid, setting them up with faeries with the ability to heal. They’re present at every battle, he discovers, and it hits him that he still has so much to learn. He wants to send the rest back to the court, but the Seelie Queen holds her faeries there, and so he takes his cues from her as inconspicuously as he can manage. 

He’s wrapping things up when he notices as pixie lazing about, as if he has no obligations and no one anticipating his return. He has purple, iridescent wings and a cute sloped nose, but most miraculously not a scratch upon him. While his armor is saturated a deep red with blood, he himself is unharmed. This makes Sungjong stop.

“Your Majesty,” the pixie greets, propped up against a few spears sticking out of the ground.

Sungjong stares at him for a solid minute – and it makes the faerie a tiny bit weary – before making up his mind.

“Congratulations, you’ve been promoted,” Sungjong announces. “Follow me.”

“Your Majesty?” the pixie questions bewilderedly from behind him, as Sungjong had already begun to walk away. He hears the pixie trail after him, listens to the swish of footsteps in the grass. 

Sungjong finds the Seelie Queen with Myungsoo by her side, as her guard should be. He takes the opportunity, the brief lull after their agonizingly formal greeting, to take in Myungsoo. He should feel more confident, that with his new position and all, but he doesn’t. In fact he still feels like himself, albeit tired and worn. Myungsoo hides his own threadbare appearance with bright eyes and the intense look he gets when he looks at Sungjong, and he’s wholly public about his enthusiastic response to his presence. Myungsoo doesn’t run to him, or even move from his position, however his eyes never leave Sungjong, which makes Sungjong feel rather tingly and warm, a feeling that’s not unwelcome in the aftermath of anarchy. Myungsoo’s a little bruised around the edges, but nothing time and rest won’t heal, thankfully. Myungsoo’s warmth hasn’t left him just yet.

The Seelie Queen has drafted a treaty; one that will end this with the finality of the first splatter of rain upon the ground after the booming crackle of thunder from black clouds. It imparts an offer of peace, of which Sungjong had called for on the battlefield. Contained in the document was the obligation to keep affairs within their own courts.

The pixie beside Sungjong shifts and catches the notice of the Seelie Queen. “And who might this be?” she inquires.

“A king needs a guard, does he not?” Sungjong calmly replies whilst reading. He can sense the pixie shifting awkwardly at his back, unaware that he was there for that purpose, but he pays no mind. Sungjong looks back up at the queen. “There is one more condition I must insist on.”

The features on the Seelie Queen’s face darken. “Oh?” she asks. “What, pray tell, would that be?”

“Your knight. I accept your offer of his servitude.” Sungjong’s gaze does not venture from the Seelie Queen, but from the corner of his eye he sees Myungsoo startle. 

“That offer had been rejected long ago,” she declares. But she had hesitated; a split second pause that signified easy acceptance before switching to objection. That was all Sungjong needed. Her protest would ensure she appeared caring in the eyes of her court, and although Sungjong wasn’t completely sure that she truly favoured Myungsoo, he did know she would protect her court at all costs, even if that meant giving up her brightest. Perhaps she did value Myungsoo, however Myungsoo had revealed he did not exactly feel the same way. 

“I wasn’t aware you wanted him. Consider it a favour.” 

There’s nothing but the wind tangling their hair in the silence. “And if I do not wish to comply with your request?” It’s a final act of (perhaps false) defiance from the queen.

“Then I shall take the remnants of my court,” he pronounces lowly, “and destroy what is left of yours.” He doesn’t want to, hates the thought of it, but as king he is unable to bend to the will of the Seelie Queen. He has a duty now, and a reputation to construct. He has enough of his court left to wipe out the Seelie one if he chose, and the queen acknowledges it. 

She is soundless, and there is nothing but the overbearing hush of the night to be heard. The moon shone in a crescent in the darkening sky, accompanied by stars slowly revealing themselves as it grew darker, bits of gas and smoke and radiance fused together across the universe. 

“Very well,” announces the Seelie Queen, after a bout of nothingness. “In exchange for peace I give you my right hand. It is done,” she declares with finality. 

And as Myungsoo steps across the temporary borderline, Sungjong is nothing but relieved.

______________________

Sungjong has nightmares sometimes. Of hurt and loss and great towering shadows of fear. He dreams the echoes of screams and uncomfortably warm blood and the smirk on the Unseelie Queen’s face as her head rolled off her neck and onto the grass. Like she knew something he did not.

Sungjong wakes up with sweat drenching his hair and dampening silk sheets, and a deep-seated ache in his lungs. They happened less frequently when Myungsoo was there, and the nights at the start when he wasn’t, when they were figuring out exactly what they were, were the worst of all, so he stayed. He’d run fingers through his hair until Sungjong fell asleep again, curled up on one side, and exhaling deep sighs. They exhausted him, but he was glad Myungsoo was by his side and in his bed. He was more than a glorified guard, a marble wall in a suit of armour. Between the warm sheets drifted tired “I love yous,” and it was so much more than either of them had hoped for.

The war had taken a toll on them both, and changed things irrevocably. Ophelia had seen Myungsoo off, relatively unharmed, albeit for a broken arm. 

“Come as well,” Myungsoo had offered, but she looked at him sadly.

“I do not belong there,” she had spoken softly, and she thinks of the tranquility of summer and the fresh smell of blooming flowers; how they were not the subliminal rumbling chaos of the opposing court. That was not the place for a nymph like her. “And the Seelie Queen,” she started, eyes reflecting the sky like translucent oceans of the brightest blue. “You know why she did what the Unseelie King asked, do you not?”

He did, and he tells Sungjong one night, under a peaceful canopy of nightfall, fingers tracing soft sides and the aftermath of sex sitting heavily in the air. Sungjong has his eyes closed peacefully, dark lashes splayed out, and Myungsoo can see the faint darkness underneath them beginning to fade with time. He reaches out and touches – because that’s what he does, touch – and Sungjong relaxes further.

“Do you know why the Seelie Queen let me go?” Myungsoo asks delicately in the still of the night.

“I imagine it was because she wished for peace, and was willing to give you up for it,” Sungjong mumbles in reply. He smells like sleep and comfort and home; a speck of light against the backdrop of the dark and the unsavory to which they both called their own.

Myungsoo moves his hand from tracing Sungjong’s face to weaving through his hair, which he had continued to keep a honey brown. Myungsoo himself had experimented with glamour, which resulted in his own hair turning blond, from inexperience, of course. Sungjong laughed told him it did not suit him, and he accepted that glamour would continue to not be his speciality. 

“Perhaps it was her way of saying we were written in the stars,” Myungsoo says apprehensively, unsure of how Sungjong would take it. He addressed his king, in any other situation, with the standard honorific, but alone they were humbly Myungsoo and Sungjong, and nothing grander.

Sungjong opens his eyes and shifts closer. “Do you believe we are?” he queries. He uses a tone that’s almost teasing, but there’s an underlying nervousness there, like he’s afraid of the answer. 

And Myungsoo gives him a smile that could light up the cosmos; could be seen halfway across the interminable universe. Then he kisses Sungjong like he’s at the very center of it all. 

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my two cheerleaders for kicking my ass to get this done. hopefully this wasn't too awful.


End file.
